


Cry/Fly: Ivan's Story

by Punctuator



Category: Aloft, Cry/Fly, cillian murphy - Fandom
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, F/M, Gen, Parody, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punctuator/pseuds/Punctuator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pre-imagining of Claudia Llosa's <i>Aloft</i> (or <i>Cry/Fly, Untitled,</i> or <i>No llores, vuela,</i> depending on where-- and when-- you are), starring Jennifer Connelly, Melanie Laurent, and the bombastically blue-eyed Cillian Murphy, as filtered through a Coen brothers and/or Wes Anderson lens by a real live Minnesotan. If you made it through that preceding description, power to ya, you betcha! Falconry, faith-healing, faithlessness, and friendship: all that alliterative stuff lies ahead. Have at it, take it with a huge block o' salt (available at Fleet Farm, don'cha'know), and enjoy....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cry/Fly: Ivan's Story

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this over the space of about a year, starting a couple of months after the project was first announced in November 2012. So a few things changed along the way: the title (as aforementioned), the spelling of one character's name (Ressmore picked up a spare "e" and is now, officially, Ressemore-- I guess), and the gender of a semi-major character (we're sticking with the original genetic pattern for the purposes of "Ivan's Story": a monster is a monster, and this little gal's a good one). And the setting itself-- which may or may not have originally been Minnesota and Canada-- semi-morphed into Canada and Alaska, and now seems to have become a semi-mythical nameless wintery-hell nowhere. _Nonameasota,_ if you will. Or _Cananoplace._

*****  
*****

 

**IVAN'S STORY**

 

*****  
*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] Early days: the destiny of dreams, the dreams of destiny....**

 

*********

 

IVAN KUNNING: [In VOICEOVER, unless OTHERWISE SPECIFIED] **Abandoned, alone, I was left with nothing but my dreams and my indomitable spirit. And my birds.**

**My beautiful birds.**

**In those early days, we were one with the wilderness, I and my birds. The feathered manifestations of my _soul_.  
**

 

Cue: FLASHBACK. A snow-covered FOREST of mighty FIRS. An OPENING, a GLEN, beneath a powder-blue winter SKY. A BROWN RABBIT nibbles on EXPOSED GRASS in the SNOW. IVAN, wearing a BLACK PARKA, a leather TRAINING GLOVE, and MUSTARD-YELLOW KHAKI PANTS, carries FALCON on his ARM. He spots the RABBIT, speaks a word of ATTACK to FALCON, and launches FALCON into the AIR. FALCON flies past the RABBIT and lands on a BRANCH about TWENTY FEET UP one of the FIR TREES.

 

The RABBIT stays where it is, nibbling GRASS. IVAN, in KNEE-DEEP SNOW, approaches the FIR TREE where FALCON has landed. IVAN gazes UP into the DARK BRANCHES.

 

DOWN ANGLE: A PINE CONE the size of a YOUTHFUL PINEAPPLE drops from the FIR TREE and hits IVAN on the HEAD. IVAN staggers back, STUNNED.

 

TIME PASSES. IVAN ascends the FIR TREE. In doing so, he loses sight of FALCON. A RUSTLING in the thicket of branches to his RIGHT. Hanging on to a BRANCH of the FIR TREE with his LEFT HAND, IVAN, making reassuring COOING SOUNDS, reaches toward the RUSTLING.

 

A BLACK SQUIRREL bursts from the THICKET. IVAN SCREAMS. SNARLING and CHITTERING, the SQUIRREL runs along his RIGHT ARM and ATTACHES ITSELF TO HIS HEAD LIKE THE FACEHUGGER IN _ALIEN_. IVAN falls BACKWARD out of the TREE.

 

SQUIRREL-MUFFLED SCREAMS, DESCENDING. From OUT OF FRAME, BELOW: A WHUMPH and an UPBURST of POWDERY SNOW. FALCON watches. From the next FIR TREE OVER.

 

TIME PASSES. Another DAY. Another BROWN RABBIT (or the SAME BROWN RABBIT) sits nibbling GRASS in the SNOW. Fifteen feet behind the RABBIT stands a BULL MOOSE.

 

IVAN: **But my anger was my birds’ anger, and their anger was _mine_.**

 

Once again, IVAN, his face now criss-crossed with SCRATCHES and BAND-AIDS, spots the RABBIT. He again speaks a word of ATTACK to FALCON, and launches FALCON into the AIR. FALCON flies past the RABBIT and lands on the MOOSE, about midway along its BACK. The MOOSE, which until now has been chewing its CUD, nonchalantly swats FALCON from its BACK with its mighty rack of ANTLERS. It then LOOKS BALEFULLY at IVAN. And CHARGES.

 

IVAN: [IN FLASHBACK] Oh, fook. Oh, fookity-fook.

 

IVAN, the MOOSE in PURSUIT, FLEES out of frame.

 

SLOW PAN, LEFT to RIGHT: TIME HAS PASSED. SNOW is FALLING. By the length of the SHADOWS on the GROUND, we can tell that the SUN is SETTING. The RABBIT sits nibbling GRASS. The MOOSE stands nibbling GRASS beside it. We PAN UP into the FIR TREE, where IVAN perches on a BRANCH, shivering and watching the MOOSE. FALCON, who sits on a branch above IVAN, occasionally pecks on IVAN’S HEAD.

 

IVAN: **We lived frugally then, my birds, my beloved birds, and I....**

 

Once more, TIME HAS PASSED. IVAN, in a McDonald’s uniform, sits at table in McDonald’s DINING AREA. FALCON sits across from him, on the table top. IVAN unwraps a single HAMBURGER. He peels back the top of the BUN and passes the MEAT across to FALCON, keeping the BUN for himself. FALCON gulps down the MEAT and glares at IVAN impatiently. IVAN sighs, then pries the PICKLE off of the bottom side of the top half of the BUN and passes the PICKLE to FALCON. Who swallows the PICKLE whole, then spreads his WINGS and dives for a large order of FRIES on a passing TRAY, to the SCREAMS of the WOMAN carrying said TRAY.

 

CLOSEUP on IVAN’s FACE as FRACAS ENSUES.

 

[ _Note:_ As falcon fight choreographers (or, if we’re inclined to be technical, “people who choreograph fights that involve falcons”) are notably rare in the film industry, and the producers at Invisible Films no doubt wish to avoid the wrath of the SPCA, the screenwriter suggests that the actual fight take place out of frame. The expression on IVAN’s FACE, and the judicious use of sound effects (a PURSE or PLASTIC TRAY being swatted against a PILLOW, perhaps, along with VICIOUS TEARING NOISES-- involving CARDBOARD or NAUGAHYDE, maybe) should be enough to convey the SAVAGERY and HORROR of the situation. Also: a FEATHER or TWO. And CLUMPS of HAIR.]

 

IVAN: **Day by day, with only my birds, my beloved birds, at my side, I watched my dreams die....**

 

Cue: MONTAGE. IVAN in UNIFORM behind the counter at TIM HORTON’S, FALCON on his SHOULDER, a POT of COFFEE in his HAND. IVAN, with FALCON on his SHOULDER, as a GREETER at WAL-MART. At K-MART. At GOODWILL. Finally, IVAN, in a WHITE CASTLE UNIFORM, sitting at table in White Castle dining area with FALCON across from him and a single wrapped HAMBURGER on the table between them. IVAN unwraps the HAMBURGER and offers the “MEAT” to FALCON. FALCON cocks his HEAD disdainfully. IVAN sighs, then passes the BUN-- and the PICKLE-- to FALCON, keeping the “MEAT” for himself.

 

IVAN: **How does one make a living off of one’s dreams? How do you believe in yourself... when no one else does...? At last, I thought that I-- and my birds, my beloved birds-- had found a way....  
**

 

EXTERIOR WIDE: An OPEN FIELD at a RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL. IVAN, in green TIGHTS, MOCCASINS, and a baggy white PIRATE SHIRT, is giving a FALCONRY DEMO. Before a CROWD OF ONLOOKERS, some in period costume and some not, he RELEASES FALCON into the AIR. FALCON flies off. We hear a SCREAM in the DISTANCE. A moment passes. Then SOMETHING drops to the GROUND at IVAN’S FEET. It is ONE HALF of a SCOTCH EGG. FALCON lands on the GROUND, hops over to the EGG, and begins to EAT IT. Seconds later, a WOMAN in BLUE JEANS, a CHAIN-MAIL T-SHIRT, and WAYFARERS bursts from the CROWD and begins to BEAT IVAN about the HEAD and SHOULDERS with a HUGE RUCKSACK.

 

IVAN: **Still, even then, with darkness weighting my spirit, my very soul, my dreams refused to die...**.

 

EXTERIOR WIDE: Another RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL. Or the SAME RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL on ANOTHER DAY. IVAN, his FACE noticeably bruised, a BAND-AID across his NOSE, in green TIGHTS, MOCCASINS, and a baggy black PIRATE SHIRT, is again giving a FALCONRY DEMO. Before a CROWD of ONLOOKERS, he launches FALCON into the AIR. FALCON flies off. We hear a MAN SHOUTING and SWEARING in the DISTANCE. Then SOMETHING drops to the GROUND at IVAN’S FEET. It is a BLACK LEATHER WALLET, still attached to a short length of CHAIN. FALCON is nowhere in sight. Seconds later, a HUGE MAN in BLUE JEANS and a BLACK HARLEY-DAVIDSON T-SHIRT bursts from the CROWD. He sees his WALLET on the GROUND. He sees IVAN. IVAN sees HIM.

 

IVAN: [IN FLASHBACK] **Oh, fook. Oh, fookity-fook.  
**

 

He TURNS and RUNS. HARLEY MAN runs after him, SWEARING.

 

A moment later, SOMETHING ELSE falls to the ground near where IVAN had been STANDING. It is a ROASTED TURKEY LEG. FALCON lands nearby, hops over, and calmly begins to EAT IT.

 

[FADE]

 

*****  
*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] Family**

 

*****

 

IVAN: [Still in VOICEOVER, unless OTHERWISE SPECIFIED] **Years passed. I took a wife....**

 

It is SPRING in the town of RHANDOME, MANITOBA. Green GRASS, budding LEAVES. GOLDFINCHES and SWALLOWS wheeling and diving against a BLUE NORTHERN SKY. We see IVAN, PENCIL-STUB in hand, filling out a WANT-AD FORM in the office of the _RHANDOME TIMES_.

 

CUT TO: ALICE, his WIFE-TO-BE, arriving in town. She drives a modest black BMW SEVEN SERIES SEDAN; she wears a GRAY BUSINESS SUIT-DRESS and sensible SHOES. Her brown HAIR is tied back in a BUN. She might as well be ELLEN PAGE.

 

IVAN, in COURTING CLOTHES of BUTTON-DOWN WHITE SHIRT, brown suede HUSH PUPPIES, and KHAKI DOCKERS, waits for her outside the SET-A-SPELL, the RHANDOME combination TRUCK STOP and BAIT SHOP. His HAIR is freshly cut and combed. He holds a bunch of purple LILACS in his RIGHT HAND. Wearing a JAUNTY HEAD-DRESS made of FISHING LURES and PINK and BLUE FEATHERS, FALCON perches on his LEFT ARM.

 

Getting out of the BMW, ALICE spots IVAN. Her expression is one of PERPLEXITY. She reaches into her LEATHER CARRY-ALL and CHECKS something on her PHONE. She FROWNS, looks at IVAN, and looks again at her PHONE.

 

INSERT: CLOSEUP on the screen of ALICE’S PHONE. We see a PICTURE of BRAD PITT, circa _Legends of the Fall,_ looking MANLY, HAUNTED, and ROGUISHLY HANDSOME, under the program-window heading **CRAIGSLIST MOBILE.**

 

ALICE shrugs. She puts her PHONE away. She approaches IVAN. We WATCH in FLASHBACK as they GREET one another. IVAN gives her the LILACS. He and ALICE SHAKE HANDS and enter the TRUCK STOP.

 

IVAN: **In due course, she bore me a son.  
**

 

MEDIUM SHOT of the back end of the BMW as it pulls away from the RHANDOME REGIONAL HOSPITAL. On the REAR WINDOW, in CLOSEUP, we see a row of FAMILY STICK-FIGURE STICKERS: “DADDY,” “MOMMY,” “BABY,” and “FALCON.”

 

IVAN: **Though my heart, my very soul, were still consumed with my anger, my grief, and my dreams-- and with the beautiful winged manifestations of my dreams, my beloved birds-- I worked hard to support my family.**

 

TIME has PASSED. WINTER has RETURNED. BREAKFAST in the RUSTIC KITCHEN of the KUNNING FAMILY CABIN. IVAN, drinking from a simple tan STONEWARE MUG, finishes his COFFEE. He puts on his BOOTS and PARKA and takes FALCON from his PERCH by the DOOR. ALICE, holding BABY, SMILES and waves BABY’S HAND “BYE-BYE” as IVAN and FALCON LEAVE.

 

TRACKING SHOT: We FOLLOW ALICE from the KITCHEN back to her MODEST HOME OFFICE: shelves full of LAW BOOKS, half a dozen COMPUTER MONITORS displaying LEGAL BRIEFS and tracking STOCKS and other BUSINESS DATA from around the WORLD, assorted DIPLOMAS from the UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO FACULTY OF LAW and elsewhere, HONOR SOCIETY MEMBERSHIPS, LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARDS, perhaps a tasteful FRAMED PICTURE of ALICE piloting a CESSNA, reaching the SUMMIT of K2, or shaking hands with the current PRIME MINISTER OF CANADA.

 

FROM the WINDOW of her MODEST HOME OFFICE, ALICE, holding BABY, watches IVAN and FALCON trek out through the SNOW.

 

MONTAGE: IVAN and FALCON TREKKING. Over HILLS, across FROZEN PONDS, through SNOWY FIELDS.

 

AT LAST: At the EDGE of a DARK PINE FOREST, IVAN spots a BROWN RABBIT nibbling GRASS in the SNOW.

 

Speaking a word of ATTACK, IVAN launches FALCON into the AIR. FALCON dives straight at the RABBIT. PANICKED, the RABBIT bolts into the FOREST, with FALCON in PURSUIT. They DISAPPEAR from VIEW.

 

IVAN, delighted at FALCON’S BEHAVIOR, his FACE FLUSHED with EXERTION and with the THRILL of the HUNT, intently WATCHES the FOREST.

 

TIME PASSES. More TIME PASSES. Just as IVAN’s EXPRESSION is turning from JUBILATION to CONCERN-- perhaps the RABBIT got away or poor FALCON has suffered a mishap-- we HEAR a high-pitched KEENING in the DISTANCE, not unlike the CRY of a WOUNDED ANIMAL.

 

IVAN’s EXPRESSION BRIGHTENS. Ah, fresh meat for his family! Well done, FALCON!

 

The CRYING COMES CLOSER. And, we realize as IVAN does, it is OVERHEAD.

 

IVAN looks up just as a BABY GRIZZLY BEAR drops from the SKY and lands in his ARMS.

 

SHOCKED, IVAN looks DOWN at the BABY BEAR. The BABY BEAR looks UP at IVAN.

 

And begins to BAWL.

 

A CRASHING from the direction of the FOREST. A BLOOD-CURDLING ROARING SOUND, APPROACHING.

 

A MOMMA GRIZZLY BEAR BURSTS FROM THE TREES.

 

SHE sees IVAN. IVAN sees HER.

 

IVAN: [IN FLASHBACK, setting the BABY BEAR on the ground and quickly BACKING AWAY--] Oh, fookity fookity fook fook fookity FOOK. **  
**

And thus: EXIT IVAN, pursued by a BEAR.

 

[FADE]

 

*****  
*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] A Fateful Journey Begins**

 

*****

 

INTERIOR: The rustic KUNNING FAMILY CABIN, late on a WINTER AFTERNOON.

 

IVAN: [In VOICEOVER, unless OTHERWISE SPECIFIED] **Time passed. But not the past itself, which tormented me, which haunted me unto my very heart....**

 

DOLLY IN ON: IVAN and FALCON, sitting by the FIREPLACE. On a heavy WOOD TABLE between them sit TWO LARGE TAN STONEWARE BOWLS. The one by IVAN has the name “IVAN” painted on it in BLUE. The BOWL near FALCON reads “FALCON” in red. IVAN, his HAUNTED, UNEARTHLY BLUE EYES lit by the FLAMES, reaches absently for his BOWL.

 

IVAN: **My heart was as cold and empty as my life....**

 

Inside the BOWL, his reaching FINGERS close around NOTHING.

 

CLOSEUP: IVAN, FROWNING in FRUSTRATION as he looks at his empty HAND-- a metaphor for his empty LIFE, his lost SOUL.

 

MID-SHOT: IVAN eyes FALCON’S BOWL.

 

CLOSEUP: FALCON’S BOWL, full of POPCORN.

 

MID-SHOT: IVAN barely daring to BREATHE as his EYES shift to FALCON.

 

CLOSEUP: Lulled by the WARMTH of the FIRE, FALCON nods, eyes closed, as he dozes on his PERCH.

 

Surreptitiously, IVAN reaches for FALCON’S BOWL.

 

FALCON wakes up and PECKS IVAN’S HAND SAVAGELY. A VICIOUS, SUDDEN ATTACK that will see no QUARTER given, no MERCY for the LOSER.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, in affectionate if agonized INDIGNATION] The fook, yeh feathered fooker.

 

However, IVAN knows when he is BEATEN. His EYES locked stoically on the FIRE, he withdraws his EMPTY HAND from the BOWL and sucks gingerly at the BLOOD dribbling from his PECKED KNUCKLE.

 

FALCON eyes IVAN for a moment. IVAN makes no further MOVE for FALCON'S BOWL. Reassured, FALCON casually picks a PIECE OF POPCORN from his BOWL and begins to EAT IT.

 

IVAN: **Were it not for the presence of my birds-- my beautiful birds-- my anger, my bitterness, might well-nigh have been unbearable. Loneliness consumed my soul....  
**

 

ALICE walks past, carrying BABY, who is now about TWO YEARS OLD. She and BABY wear matching BLACK PARKAS and CLEAR PLASTIC SAFETY GOGGLES. ALICE pauses BEHIND IVAN.

 

ALICE’S P.O.V.: IVAN SIGHS as he watches the FIRE. FALCON faces ALICE. Watching her, he DIPS his BEAK into his SNACK BOWL and methodically TOSSES PIECES OF POPCORN onto the WOVEN RUG in FRONT OF THE FIREPLACE.

 

ALICE glares at FALCON. FALCON glares fearlessly BACK at HER. IVAN is OBLIVIOUS.

 

ALICE and BABY leave the FRAME. As they do, we hear a CELL PHONE ring. The RINGTONE is the OMINOUS FOUR-NOTE OPENING of BEETHOVEN'S FIFTH SYMPHONY.

 

ALICE: [Out of FRAME] Kunning here. [We HEAR, TINNILY, as if over a CELL PHONE SPEAKER, something about STOCKS and a HOSTILE TAKEOVER.] ... No, no, Bob: this is a good time. Just let me get my earpiece. Hold on a sec. Okay: shoot....

 

OFFSCREEN, we hear a DOOR SLAM. IVAN doesn’t even BLINK.

 

WIDE SHOT: OUTSIDE. BEHIND the KUNNING FAMILY CABIN. A BLEAK WINTER VISTA. The SKY is GRAY and OVERCAST. SNOWFLAKES drift like ASHES in the AIR. We CRANE IN on ALICE, who is brokering a CUTTHROAT BUSINESS DEAL while she chops FIREWOOD with a huge AXE. BABY stands off to the side, calmly WATCHING. ALICE tosses him the SPLIT PIECES OF WOOD, and he stacks them into NEAT PILES.

 

CUT TO: INTERIOR of CABIN. IVAN remains by the FIRE. FALCON drops unpopped POPCORN KERNELS one by one into IVAN’S LAP.

 

CLOSEUP: A TEAR glistens in IVAN’s EYE.

 

IVAN: **I was lost... lost and alone. Oh, the pain in my soul...! If only there were a God-- anyone-- in whom I could believe...!  
**

 

EXTERIOR: The rustic KUNNING FAMILY CABIN. Out of frame, approaching, we hear the labored WHINING of a SMALL CAR ENGINE. The sound of TIRES SPINNING INEFFECTUALLY on SNOW and ICE.

 

ALICE stops CHOPPING WOOD and LOOKS. BABY stops STACKING WOOD and LOOKS.

 

A RED FIAT 500, IDIOTICALLY UNFIT for WINTER DRIVING CONDITIONS, is STRUGGLING UP the DRIVEWAY.

 

ALICE stands with the AXE held across her CHEST in a CASUAL but SOLID TWO-HANDED GRIP as the FIAT comes to a HALT by the CABIN and the DRIVER-SIDE DOOR OPENS. BABY stands BESIDE HER similarly HOLDING A CHUNK OF SPLIT WOOD.

 

JANNIA RESSMORE emerges from the FIAT. She is YOUNG, PETITE, BLONDE, and ETHEREALLY GORGEOUS. She wears a PUFFY PINK DOWN JACKET and a CUDDLY WHITE KNIT SCARF. She SMILES at ALICE over the TOP of the FIAT. Her TEETH are PERFECT and EVEN and PEARLY-WHITE.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, in the DULCET TONES of a FRENCH-CANADIAN ANGEL.] Mrs. Kunting--?

 

ALICE: [In FLASHBACK, gripping the AXE a bit more FIRMLY] _Kun_ -ning. **  
**

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [Embarrassed, she LAUGHS SOFTLY. Her LAUGHTER is like the TINKLING of TINY SILVER BELLS in HEAVEN.] My apologies, Mrs. Kunning.

 

INTERIOR CABIN: A RAY of SUNSHINE beams through the WINDOW. The PALL of GLOOM lifts from IVAN’S SOUL. He and FALCON turn in UNISON toward the LIGHT.

 

IVAN: **Suddenly, the eternal pall of gloom was lifted from my tortured soul. Light-- at last, finally, light eternal, the light of heaven-- shone into my bitter, empty life!**

 

EXTERIOR CABIN. RESSMORE shuts the DOOR of the FIAT. The FIAT skids a COUPLE of INCHES on the ICY DRIVEWAY. RESSMORE, still SMILING, approaches ALICE.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] I am wondering if I might speak to your husband.

 

As she speaks, RESSMORE nods toward ALICE’S RIGHT. Not realizing that IVAN and FALCON are already-- magically-- THERE, ALICE TURNS and BELLOWS:

 

ALICE: [In FLASHBACK] **IVAAAAN!!!**

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [GAZING at RESSMORE as FALCON, who has been BLOWN CLEAR by ALICE’S BELLOW, clambers NUMBLY back onto his SHOULDER.] Yes, my dearest Eileen...? **  
**

ALICE: [In FLASHBACK] **\--** Alice.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Still GAZING at RESSMORE] Oh. Right. What is it, dearest one...?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [GAZING back at IVAN] I need you--

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Oh, fookity-fookity-thank-you-Jesus YES.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] **\--** to help me find your long-estranged mother, the world-renowned faith-healer Nana Kunning, who is also a brilliant artist and who performs all of her healings in complete secrecy. I am a journalist.

 

ALICE: [In FLASHBACK] [Looking a bit SKEPTICAL as RESSMORE and IVAN GAZE at ONE ANOTHER] Wait. If she always performs in complete secrecy, then how do you know she--

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Alan, please **\--**

 

ALICE: [In FLASHBACK] [An ASIDE, as she GRITS her TEETH. She’s still gripping the AXE.] _Alice,_ you asshole. **  
**

In FLASHBACK: While the CAMERA DOLLIES in a long, poetic CIRCLE around the PRINCIPALS, RESSMORE describes a journey to find NANA, IVAN’S long-estranged mother, a world-renowned healer who is also a brilliant artist and who performs all of her healings in complete secrecy. This, RESSMORE says, might well be a journey of INCREDIBLE DANGER. If they’re lucky, a journey of INCREDIBLE REWARDS as well. UNDERSTANDING. RESOLUTION. Inner PEACE.

 

IVAN: **As she spoke, I knew: At last, at long last-- I had found my _soulmate_...!**

 

IN FLASHBACK: FADE SOUND as RESSMORE talks ON. As she SPEAKS, she moves closer to IVAN. IVAN moves closer to HER. Until THEY’RE PRACTICALLY NOSE-TO-NOSE. Their NOSTRILS FLARE in UNISON. Their BREATH makes little SYNCHRONIZED PUFFS of STEAM in the arctic CHILL of the AIR.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [Throatily] ... she is in Beaumfocque. Or so... the legends... say.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [GAZING into RESSMORE’S EYES] I’ll get the condoms.

 

A LOOK from ALICE. FALCON pecks IVAN'S HEAD.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] **\--** The Jeep. Fook. I’ll get the Jeep **\--**

 

ALICE: [In FLASHBACK] Ivan, I need the Jeep. It’s Ivan Junior’s Baby Tai Chi night.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [BLANKLY, his REVERIE SHATTERED] Who **\--**

 

PAN DOWN to BABY, who stands next to ALICE.

 

IVAN’S P.O.V.: BABY looks up at IVAN.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Oh. Right.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] That is alright. We can take my car.

 

FRONT-ANGLE SHOT of the FIAT, which has SLUMPED like a MELTED SCOOP of CHERRY-RED ICE CREAM into a SNOWBANK next to the DRIVEWAY.

 

MID-SHOT on ALICE, BABY, and FALCON as they look DOUBTFULLY at the FIAT. IVAN still GAZES at RESSMORE.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [GLANCING SHYLY from IVAN to FALCON and BACK AGAIN] That is a beautiful specimen of _Falco peregrinus,_ family _Falconidae_.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] What?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [Smiling ANGELICALLY] I am sorry-- sometimes my English is not so good-- **  
**

RESSMORE rummages in her PURSE for her PHONE. She TYPES SOMETHING on the TOUCHSCREEN.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [Reading from the SCREEN of her PHONE] Yours is a superlative peppersteak.

 

She SMILES at IVAN. IVAN looks back at her in COMPLETE ADORATION.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Softly] Fook.

 

CUT TO:

 

BRIEF MONTAGE: IVAN packs for the JOURNEY. Socks. Briefs. T-shirts. Toothbrush and toothpaste. A couple of issues of _Falconer Today._ Cool Ranch Doritos. Six boxes of Trojans.

 

IVAN: **My heart soared...! This woman, this amazing woman, had spoken to my very soul. And I knew-- I _knew_ \-- I would never be alone again...!**

 

In FLASHBACK: The FATEFUL JOURNEY BEGINS. IVAN and RESSMORE get into the FIAT. FALCON is already ABOARD. Wedged in amongst ASSORTED HAND LUGGAGE and BAGS of SNACKS, he GLARES out of the BACK WINDOW.

 

RESSMORE starts the FIAT. The ENGINE whines like a CUT-RATE HAND BLENDER as the FIAT attempts to extricate itself from the SNOWBANK at the SIDE of the DRIVEWAY.

 

RESSMORE eases off on the GAS and SMILES BESEECHINGLY out the DRIVER’S-SIDE WINDOW at ALICE.

 

MID-SHOT: ALICE, her expression unreadable, SHRUGS.

 

WIDE SHOT: ALICE motions BABY to STAND CLEAR. BABY goes to stand by the DOOR of the rustic KUNNING FAMILY CABIN.

 

MID-SHOT: ALICE gets in behind the FIAT and PUSHES. RESSMORE GUNS the ENGINE. The FIAT’S STUPIDLY TINY WHEELS spin a WALL OF SNOW into ALICE’S FACE.

 

WIDE SHOT: Triumph! The FIAT lurches CLEAR OF THE SNOWBANK. RESSMORE and IVAN are on their WAY.

 

CLOSE-UP: ALICE, SPITTING and windshield-wiping SNOW from her GOGGLES with the SIDES of her FINGERS. She musters a GRIM, SNOW-ENCRUSTED SMILE and WAVES after the FIAT.

 

SHOT of the FIAT, SKIDDING away down the DRIVEWAY. From the REAR WINDOW, FALCON GLARES.

 

IVAN: **Little did I know that my destiny-- however wonderful-- would come at a terrible price....**

 

In FLASHBACK: The SUN has DIPPED beneath the CLOUDS and is beginning to SETTLE toward the BLACK POINTY TOPS of the FIR TREES. ALICE SIGHS as she looks off down the LONG EMPTY DRIVEWAY. She picks up her AXE and TRUDGES back to the rustic KUNNING FAMILY CABIN to get IVAN, JR. ready for his BABY TAI CHI night.

 

IVAN: **... a wonderful-- but terrible-- price....**

 

[FADE]

 

*****  
*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] The Road to Beaumfocque  
**

 

*****

 

IVAN: **And so we set out-- the woman who was to be the love of my empty life, my beautiful bird, and I-- on a journey that would bring us face to face with destiny. A journey of incredible danger. Of revelation and passion. A journey that would force us to face the innermost facets of our very being.**

 

A BEAUTIFUL, CLEAR WINTER DAY at the ACCESS POINT leading down onto the HORRIFICALLY DANGEROUS ICE ROAD of LAKE WHATTAPIG. The SKY is as HIGH and as BLUE as a NASA DOCUMENTARY on the IONOSPHERE. We can practically HEAR Brian ENO PLAYING on the SOUNDTRACK. The SUN is SHINING.

 

WIDE SHOT: With RESSMORE at the WHEEL, the FIAT waddles down onto the ICE ROAD. IVAN and his COMPANIONS are off on their JOURNEY of DESTINY.

 

REAR SHOT: We watch as the FIAT rolls SLOWLY toward the DISTANT HORIZON.

 

PULL BACK: As a HUGE BLACK CHEVY PICK-UP enters the frame from BEHIND US.

 

AERIAL SHOT: The BLACK CHEVY PICK-UP is moving CAREFULLY but at a HIGHER SPEED than the FIAT. It GAINS on the FIAT and POLITELY PASSES.

 

AERIAL SHOT. Oh, NO: VIBRATIONS from the BLACK CHEVY PICK-UP! Its WADDLE now SKEWED to roughly a FORTY-FIVE DEGREE ANGLE, the FIAT SHIMMIES HAPHAZARDLY across the ICE ROAD like a CHEAP PLASTIC THREE-BALL on a CROOKED POOL TABLE. It WOBBLES into a SNOWBANK and is STUCK.

 

IVAN: **We knew when we set out, my love and I, that the risks were incomprehensible, the dangers well-nigh unthinkable....**

 

IVAN and RESSMORE emerge from the FIAT.

 

MID-SHOT on IVAN and RESSMORE, matched expressions of DESPAIR on their faces as they look at the FIAT.

 

FRONT: MID-SHOT of FIAT, tragically STUCK in at least FIVE INCHES of LOOSELY PACKED SNOW.

 

IVAN: **We knew the price we might have to pay....**

 

CLOSE UP: RESSMORE, her expression DELICATE and VULNERABLE and AFRAID. She looks at IVAN...

 

CLOSE UP: IVAN, his expression STOIC, his UNEARTHLY CLEAR EYES fixed STRAIGHT AHEAD.

 

MID-SHOT: RESSMORE's HAND reaching for IVAN's HAND. Their HANDS MEET. Their FINGERS entwine DESPERATELY.

 

IVAN: **But even the unthinking savagery of Nature is sometimes tempered by kindness....**

 

From the BACK SEAT, FALCON hops onto the front seat of the FIAT. Up ahead on the ICE ROAD, the CHEVY TRUCK stops and TURNS AROUND. From the open PASSENGER DOOR, FALCON looks at IVAN and RESSMORE. He looks DOWN the ROAD at the CHEVY, which is NOW APPROACHING. Unnoticed by IVAN and RESSMORE, FALCON spreads his MIGHTY WINGS and FLIES OFF.

 

WIDE SHOT: We watch as the CHEVY stops approximately TEN FEET from the FIAT. The DRIVER of the CHEVY gets OUT. He is in his EARLY THIRTIES, dressed in JEANS, heavy BOOTS, and a RUGGED BROWN CHECKED JACKET. He is DARK-HAIRED and BEARDED. He looks a BIT like the INCREDIBLE HULK version of IVAN.

 

MID SHOT: REASSURING yet EPIC MUSIC plays on the SOUNDTRACK as the CHEVY DRIVER greets IVAN and RESSMORE and DISCUSSES their PREDICAMENT.

 

IVAN: **The kindness that only one human being can show... to another.**

 

WIDE SHOT: IVAN and RESSMORE stand CLEAR as the CHEVY DRIVER gets a HOOK and CABLE from the BED of his TRUCK. The CABLE is attached to a WINCH.

 

MID SHOT: The CHEVY DRIVER walks around the FIAT. He looks UNDERNEATH for a SUITABLE PLACE to ATTACH the HOOK.

 

CLOSE UP: The CHEVY DRIVER straightens up and SHRUGS.

 

WIDE SHOT: The CHEVY DRIVER re-winches the CABLE into the back of the TRUCK. He then WALKS to the BACK of the FIAT and PUSHES the FIAT clear of the SNOWBANK.

 

MID SHOT: IVAN and RESSMORE smiling with GRATITUDE as they SHAKE HANDS with the CHEVY DRIVER. The CHEVY DRIVER gets back in his TRUCK. He WAVES out of the WINDOW as he DRIVES AWAY.

 

IVAN: **Even if that kindness is sometimes less than freely given....**

 

MID SHOT: We watch as IVAN and RESSMORE return the CHEVY DRIVER's WAVE. IVAN GRINS. For the FIRST TIME, we see him RELAXED and HAPPY. Perhaps the world is not so CRUEL a PLACE after ALL.

 

Then: Something DROPS from the SKY and LANDS at IVAN's FEET.

 

RESSMORE watches as IVAN bends down to PICK the SOMETHING UP.

 

CLOSE UP on the ITEM in IVAN's HAND: a MEN's BROWN LEATHER WALLET.

 

WIDE SHOT: Up ahead, down the ICE ROAD, we see the CHEVY's BRAKE LIGHTS come ON. The TRUCK starts to BACK UP toward IVAN, RESSMORE, and FALCON, who is now SITTING NONCHALANTLY on the FIAT's ROOF.

 

IVAN: **Even if that kindness sometimes comes at... a cost.**

 

The CHEVY stops approximately TEN FEET from the FIAT. Again, the DRIVER gets OUT. He looks at the WALLET in IVAN's HAND. His EXPRESSION is INCREDIBLE-HULK GRIM. Only less GREEN.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Looking from the WALLET to the CHEVY DRIVER.] Oh... fook.

 

The CHEVY DRIVER advances on IVAN like a HUMAN TANK. As he does, the CAMERA pans AWAY across the WINDSWEPT ETERNAL VISTA of BEAUTIFUL, ICE-COVERED LAKE WHATTAPIG.

 

TIME PASSES. BEAUTIFUL, BLEAK BUT EPIC music plays on the SOUNDTRACK.

 

MID SHOT: INTERIOR FIAT. We re-join IVAN, FALCON, and RESSMORE on their SPIRITUAL QUEST. RESSMORE DRIVES. IVAN has a BLACK EYE. FALCON sits in the BACK SEAT with his HEAD between IVAN's and RESSMORE's. He EATS a DORITO, generously sprinkling CRUMBS on both IVAN's and RESSMORE's shoulders, as he WATCHES the ROAD AHEAD.

 

RESSMORE's, FALCON's, and IVAN's P.O.V.: SUDDENLY, ahead in the ROAD, a HUGE BULL CARIBOU!

 

CLOSE UP: Her ANGELIC CHINA-BLUE EYES wide with PANIC, RESSMORE JERKS the STEERING WHEEL to the LEFT.

 

MID-WIDE SHOT: EXTERIOR. The FIAT SKITTERS across the ROAD like a RED JELLY BEAN and RUNS AGROUND in another SNOWBANK.

 

A MOMENT. The FIAT's ENGINE ceases its WHINING. IVAN, RESSMORE, and FALCON emerge, SHAKEN but UNHARMED, to SURVEY the DAMAGE.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, as the CARIBOU AMBLES BY and out of FRAME] Fook.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [Clutching IVAN's HAND and POINTING after the CARIBOU] My love... look!

 

From the direction of RHANDOME, a MASSIVE TAN CHEVY YUKON approaches. It PAUSES to allow the CARIBOU to PASS. It comes CLOSER. Approximately TWENTY FEET from the FIAT, it STOPS.

 

IVAN and RESSMORE watch as the FOUR DOORS of the YUKON open and FOUR HUGE MEN, dressed in INSULATED ICE-FISHING GEAR, emerge.

 

IVAN: **A terrible... cost.**

 

SMILING and NEIGHBORLY, gesturing HELPFULLY at the FIAT, the FOUR ICE-FISHERS approach. As FALCON spreads his MIGHTY WINGS and SOARS off across the BLEAK VISTA of BEAUTIFUL LAKE WHATTAPIG, IVAN and RESSMORE and the FOUR MEN discuss the FIAT's PREDICAMENT.

 

TIME PASSES. The FOUR MEN carefully lift the FIAT from the SNOWBANK and set it GENTLY back on the ICE ROAD. OPTIMISTIC yet EPIC MUSIC plays on the SOUNDTRACK. RESSMORE and IVAN wave their THANKS as the MEN get back in the YUKON and DRIVE AWAY.

 

CLOSE UP: A sweet SMILE creeps onto IVAN's FACE. A REMINDER, he might well be thinking: people can be GOOD and KIND!

 

THEN: Something DROPS from the SKY and LANDS at IVAN's FEET. A veritable HAIL of SOMETHINGS, in fact.

 

Frowning, IVAN looks DOWN.

 

IVAN's P.O.V.: On the ICE ROAD at IVAN's FEET, we see a SCATTERING of FISHING LURES, JIGS, and BOBBERS. And FOUR MEN's WALLETS.

 

Up ahead, on the ICE ROAD, we see the BRAKE LIGHTS illuminate on the YUKON.

 

FALCON swoops in and lands by the FIAT. He HOPS IN through the open PASSENGER DOOR. From the INTERIOR of the FIAT, we hear the CRUMPLY RUSTLING of a DORITO BAG. Followed by nonchalant CRUNCHING SOUNDS.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Looking with WEARY RESIGNATION toward the YUKON, which, of course, is now again APPROACHING.] Fook. Fook. Fook. Fook. **  
**

Roughly TWENTY FEET from the FIAT, the YUKON STOPS. The FOUR FISHERMEN again GET OUT. They ADVANCE on IVAN like the DEFENSIVE LINE of the PITTSBURGH STEELERS. They are no longer SMILING.

 

IVAN: **And so we learn that sometimes kindness can be more cruel than even the most unkind cruelty.**

 

And thus: begin **MONTAGE/The CRUELTY of KINDNESS** : [Scriptwriter's note: _If we could get someone like Trampled by Turtles, Aimee Mann, Morrissey, or Garbage to do a song with "cruelty of kindness"-style lyrics to play over the following sequence, that would be great. If it's outside our budgetary range, we'll just have to spring for "Cruel To Be Kind." Unless Nick Lowe actually expects money for it, that is._ ]

 

IVAN, FALCON, RESSMORE, and FIAT continue on their JOURNEY of FATE:

 

FIRST, the CRASHES: FIAT swerves to AVOID a MARMOT. To MISS an OSPREY. To BYPASS a MYSTERIOUS MEDIUM-SIZED BROWN PAPER BAG. FIAT is momentarily HUNG UP on a FOUR-INCH-HIGH RIDGE of ICE. FIAT encounters an especially SKIDDY SPOT on the ROAD. Subsequently, FIAT hits a CHAIN of SNOWBANKS. And is STUCK. And STUCK. And STUCK. And STUCK. And STUCK.

 

SECOND, the COMPASSIONATE ONES. As IVAN and RESSMORE survey FIAT, perpetually STUCK, a JEEP CHEROKEE full of HUNTERS stops to help. For SUBSEQUENT STICKINGS: A blue MINI-VAN full of SENIOR CITIZENS. A BUSLOAD of NUNS. A BURLY FELLOW driving a LOGGING RIG. A BIG SQUARE TRUCK PAINTED in GREEN CAMOUFLAGE, full of CANADIAN ARMY RESERVISTS.

 

THIRD: CURSED MANNA from the HEAVENS: We SEE, falling at IVAN's FEET: WALLETS, PURSES, ASSORTED JEWELRY and WRIST WATCHES, CAR KEYS, SUNGLASSES, a set of DENTURES, BINGO DAUBERS in various COLORS, and several ROSARIES.

 

FOURTH: VENGEANCE, the HARSHEST MISTRESS: We SEE: IVAN being punched by the ELDERLY, walloped by ARMY RESERVISTS, punted by NUNS.

 

FINALLY: The MONTAGE ENDS. TIME PASSES. RESSMORE, IVAN, and FALCON continue on their FATEFUL TRAVELS. RESSMORE DRIVES. IVAN has TWO BLACK EYES and a BLOODY NOSE. A WAD of KLEENEX is WEDGED into his LEFT NOSTRIL. A weary SILENCE fills the FIAT. In the BACK SEAT, FALCON methodically removes EVERYTHING from RESSMORE's PURSE. He stuffs the LOOSE CHANGE, coin by coin, into the GAPS between the SEAT CUSHIONS.

 

IVAN: **Still miles from our fateful destination-- nay, from our destiny itself-- we could travel no farther. My love and I stopped for the night.**

 

At the SIDE of the ICE ROAD, miraculously managing to AVOID the SNOWBANKS that LURK ALL AROUND, RESSMORE brings the FIAT to a HALT. She shuts off the MOTOR. The SUN is SETTING. We hear the WIND HOWL MOURNFULLY across the MAJESTIC SNOW-COVERED EXPANSE of LAKE WHATTAPIG. Inside the FIAT, IVAN and RESSMORE prepare to settle in for the NIGHT.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] We should be warm enough, wrappin' up in the sleeping bags.

 

IVAN: **But-- oh, God-- the horrors Fate has at her disposal...! The wonders, yes-- and what wonders there were to come-- but the horrors, too!**

 

INTERIOR FIAT: P.O.V. from REAR OF CAR: IVAN reaches over the FRONT SEATS for the SLEEPING BAGS, which are ROLLED UP and STUFFED in the BACK SEAT. He PAUSES. He FREEZES. He SNIFFS the AIR in APPREHENSION. Then in HORROR.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Oh, yeh didn't. Oh, yeh feathered fook, yeh didn't. Oh, the fook no--

 

IVAN'S P.O.V.: In the back seat of the FIAT, FALCON, surrounded by EMPTY DORITO BAGS, looks up INNOCENTLY.

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK] [NOTE to SOUND DEPARTMENT: **NOT** a TRADITIONAL VOCALIZATION. FALCON occasionally expresses himself through "anal gaseous emissions." Or "farts." ] puh- _WHEEEET_.

 

IVAN goes PALE with ANGER. And, possibly, with ACUTE, SUDDEN-ONSET NAUSEA.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Gesturing FURIOUSLY at the EMPTY DORITO BAGS] Yeh didn't eat _all_ the Doritos...? Fook. Those were meant t' last the entire trip, yeh feathery fook. And _mine_ as well...?!? Oh, for fook's sa--

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK] [Daintily] puhh- _wheeeeet._

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Oh, fook.

 

RETCHING, IVAN faces FORWARD and FLAILS for the WINDOW CONTROLS. The PASSENGER-SIDE window SQUEAKS as it lowers. GASPING and CHOKING, IVAN sticks his HEAD OUT into the BLASTING ICY WIND.

 

A PUZZLED LOOK on her ANGELICALLY GORGEOUS FACE, RESSMORE watches IVAN hang out of the PASSENGER WINDOW. Then she turns and daintily SNIFFS the AIR in the BACK SEAT. FALCON looks up at her like a WIDE-EYED FEATHERY SAINT.

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK] [Sweetly] puh- _WHEEeeeEET_.

 

RESSMORE looks BEAUTIFULLY CONFUSED.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [Shouting MELODIOUSLY to IVAN over the BLASTING WIND] What is it, my dearest...?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Shouting back with his HEAD still OUTSIDE] Can't yeh smell it? The feathered fook's gone and hotboxed us, the fook.

 

RESSMORE closes her CHINA-BLUE EYES and INHALES DEEPLY. Her expression is one of REVERIE.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Ahhh...!

 

IVAN: [From OUTSIDE, SHOUTING] What's that, then?

 

RESSMORE HAULS IVAN back into the CAR. IVAN'S EYEBROWS and BEARD are FROSTED WHITE. He looks at her INQUIRINGLY. And NAUSEOUSLY. RESSMORE gazes back at him. Her chest HEAVES.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] It smells not unlike the cheese of my native Montreal.

 

IVAN, melting FROST dripping from his EYEBROWS and BEARD, looks back at her BLANKLY. And NAUSEOUSLY.

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK] [From the BACK SEAT, SUBTLY.] _puh-WHEeeeeEET._ **  
**

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] I don't follow--

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] We have sex now.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [In SUDDEN, JOYOUS REALIZATION. And NAUSEA.] Oh. Okay. Fook.

 

RESSMORE POUNCES on HIM.

 

CUT TO: WIDE SHOT: EXTERIOR FIAT. NIGHT is FALLING. The WIND is BLASTING. The FIAT rocks in the WIND and with the MIGHT of IVAN and RESSMORE's PASSION. Its FRAME makes TEENSY MOUSY SQUEAKY SOUNDS.

 

From WITHIN the FIAT we HEAR:

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Fook.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Ah.

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK] puhhhh- _WHEEEEeeEEET._

 

EXTERIOR FIAT: At least THIRTY SECONDS have PASSED. The FIAT stops ROCKING. On the last ROCK, its TIRES lose their TENUOUS GRIP on the ICE, and the FIAT slides PEACEFULLY but INEXORABLY across the ROAD and into another SNOWBANK.

 

BEAT. The wind HOWLS. The darkening western HORIZON might as well be a MILLION MILES AWAY.

 

EXTERIOR FIAT: The PASSENGER-SIDE WINDOW rolls DOWN. IVAN looks OUT. His expression is one of DREAMY ECSTASY. And NAUSEA.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Realizing that the FIAT is once again STUCK.] Fook.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] [From INSIDE the FIAT] Come to me, my beloved cheese.

 

EXTERIOR FIAT: IVAN is YANKED BACK INSIDE, as if by a GARGANTUAN MORAY EEL. The FIAT's PASSENGER-SIDE WINDOW rolls back UP.

 

From INSIDE the FIAT, we HEAR:

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Fook.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Ah.

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK] puh-wheeEEE _eeet_.

 

And so, as NIGHT continues to FALL on the WILD and PRISTINE EXPANSE of MAGNIFICENT LAKE WHATTAPIG, we leave to their PASSIONS the DENIZENS of the FIAT. And FALCON, TOO.

 

[FADE]

 

*****  
*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] A Fateful Destiny**

 

  
*****

 

The NEXT MORNING, SUNNY, CLEAR, and COLD. The FIAT waddles ALONG the HORRIFICALLY DANGEROUS ICE-ROAD on SPECTACULAR LAKE WHATTAPIG.

 

UP AHEAD, we SEE a LARGE WHITE ROAD SIGN set on a METAL FRAME on the ICE. Below the words **BEAUMFOCQUE VIA HIGHWAY 61,** a BLACK ARROW points to the RIGHT.

 

INSIDE the FIAT: IVAN and RESSMORE share a weary SMILE. FALCON flaps his MIGHTY WINGS in JOY. Their EPIC JOURNEY, a JOURNEY of TERROR, HARDSHIP, and COURAGE, is nearly at an END.

 

But THEN--

 

CRANE SHOT: The FIAT approaches the SIGN and the TURN-OFF for the ACCESS ROAD leading off of AWE-INSPIRING LAKE WHATTAPIG. The FIAT starts to TURN... and then its TEENSY-WEENSY TIRES begin to SLIP-- once AGAIN-- on the ICE.

 

INTERIOR FIAT: EXPRESSIONS of GRIM RESIGNATION! Of sudden FEAR!

 

IVAN: [in FLASHBACK] [As we ZOOM IN for a CLOSEUP] Fook.

 

RESSMORE: [in FLASHBACK] [As we ZOOM IN for a CLOSEUP] Ah.

 

FALCON: [in FLASHBACK] [As we ZOOM IN for a THIRD CLOSEUP] _puhhh-_ WHEEEET.

 

EXTERIOR, WIDE: The FIAT skids SIDEWAYS into a SNOWBANK next to the ROAD SIGN and is STUCK.

 

And THEN-- HORROR of HORRORS-- the front driver's-side WHEEL FALLS OFF. The FIAT SLUMPS nearly a full, terrifying SIX INCHES before its FRONT BUMPER lands in the SNOW.

 

EXTERIOR, WIDER: A MOMENT of STILLNESS. The HORIZON-WIDE VISTA of ASTOUNDING LAKE WHATTAPIG reminds us of the FRAILTY of HUMAN EXISTENCE. The WIND sings an ICY SONG of MORTALITY in this BRUTAL WILDERNESS.

 

EXTERIOR, MID-WIDE: The DOORS of the FIAT OPEN. SHAKILY, no doubt STUNNED by their NEAR-BRUSH with DEATH, IVAN and RESSMORE EMERGE and SURVEY the WRECKAGE.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, as her PORCELAIN-BLUE EYES fill with TEARS.] This is... the end. Oh, my love!

 

RESSMORE buries her FACE against IVAN's SHOULDER and SOBS.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, as he tenderly HOLDS RESSMORE CLOSE.] Fook.

 

But THEN: Approaching along the SOUL-CRUSHINGLY DANGEROUS ICE ROAD of EVER-AWE-INSPIRING LAKE WHATTAPIG, we hear the THROATY RUMBLE of a CAR ENGINE.

 

FALCON hops from the interior of the FIAT onto the ROOF and LOOKS down the ICE ROAD. RESSMORE lifts her GORGEOUSLY TOUSLED HEAD from IVAN's SHOULDER and LOOKS down the ICE ROAD.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, WONDERINGLY, as he LOOKS in SUDDEN HOPE down the ICE ROAD.] Fook.

 

From RESSMORE's, IVAN's, and FALCON's P.O.V., we SEE, approaching along the ICE ROAD, a HUGE SILVER LATE-MODEL CHEVY SUBURBAN.

 

SHOT WIDE, from the SIDE: The SUBURBAN stops about TEN FEET from the FIAT. The DRIVER's-SIDE WINDOW rolls DOWN, and a HEARTY, DARK-HAIRED WOMAN in her LATE THIRTIES or EARLY FORTIES looks CHEERFULLY OUT.

 

WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK] Looks like you folks are in kind of a jam. You need a lift to Beaumfocque?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Yes, please. Amm.

 

WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK] No need t' be formal. You can call me Betty. [She takes out a CELL PHONE.] I'll get Cyril on the horn. He can haul ya out. [SHOUTING toward the BACK of the SUBURBAN as she DIALS:] Kids! Give these folks a hand with their stuff!

 

WIDE SHOT, EXTERIOR SUBURBAN: About HALF a DOZEN KIDS, ranging in age from SIX to TWELVE, all wearing HOCKEY JERSEYS, SWARM out of the SUBURBAN. IVAN, RESSMORE, and FALCON get the HELL out of the WAY as the KIDS RANSACK the FIAT and transfer the CONTENTS to BETTY's HUGE SUV.

 

Almost IMMEDIATELY, a RUMBLING APPROACHES from the DIRECTION of HIGHWAY 61 and BEAUMFOCQUE. IVAN, FALCON, and RESSMORE WATCH as a BIG RED FLAT-BED WRECKER comes into VIEW. On the DRIVER's-SIDE DOOR WE SEE, painted in CURSIVE GOLD LETTERING: **CYRIL'S TOWING and AUTO REPAIR. BEAUMFOCQUE, MB.**

 

BETTY waves HELLO to CYRIL as she GETS OUT and HELPS to LOAD the REMAINDER of IVAN's and RESSMORE's THINGS into the SUBURBAN. CYRIL waves BACK before CLIMBING DOWN from the CAB of his WRECKER.

 

BETTY: [In FLASHBACK, to IVAN and RESSMORE, as CYRIL, BIG and BEARDED and WEARING a RED-CHECKED FLANNEL SHIRT, WORN BLUE JEANS, and more than HALF a SMIRK, WINCHES the FIAT onto the WRECKER.] What brings you folks to Beaumfocque?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, exchanging a MEANINGFUL LOOK with IVAN, who stays MODESTLY SILENT out of DEFERENCE to RESSMORE's POWERS of JOURNALISTIC ELOQUENCE.] I am Jannia Ressmore. This is my lover, Ivan. We are on a quest to find his long-estranged mother, the world-renowned faith-healer Nana Kunning, who is also a brilliant artist and who performs all of her healings in complete secrecy. I am a journalist.

 

BETTY: [In FLASHBACK] Nana? Nana Kunning? You don't say...!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] You know her...?

 

BETTY: [In FLASHBACK, GRINNING.] _Know_ her? Hell, she sponsors Ricky's hockey team. Ricky, come here a sec!

 

BETTY's TROOP is climbing back into the SUBURBAN. One of them, a BOY of about TEN, STOPS and COMES OVER. He has FRECKLES and a BLONDE MULLET. He is wearing a NAVY-BLUE HOCKEY JERSEY. On the FRONT of the JERSEY, on a CIRCLE OF WHITE, is an EMBROIDERED ORANGE CHEESE WEDGE with a SNARLING CARTOON FACE.

 

BETTY: [In FLASHBACK] Kunning's Fighting Cheeseheads! Ain't that right, Ricky?

 

RICKY: [In FLASHBACK, GRINNING. He has a GAP between his TOP TEETH.] You bet, Mom!

 

BETTY proudly tousles RICKY's HAIR and shoos him back to the SUBURBAN.

 

BETTY: [In FLASHBACK, to IVAN and RESSMORE, as RICKY clambers back into the SUBURBAN with the OTHER KIDS] You folks all set? Hop on in!

 

CUE: TRAVEL MONTAGE. The LAST FATEFUL FEW MILES on the ROAD TO BEAUMFOCQUE. IVAN and RESSMORE, wedged between BAGS of HOCKEY GEAR and their own LUGGAGE, sit on the REARMOST BENCH SEAT of the SUBURBAN. FALCON perches on IVAN's FOREARM. Across from them sit FOUR KIDS of VARIOUS AGES and SIZES. Three BOYS and one GIRL. ALL wearing HOCKEY JERSEYS and matching MULLETS. TWO of the BOYS are PLAYING HAND-HELD ELECTRONIC GAMES. The OTHER BOY and the GIRL are FIXING IVAN, RESSMORE, and FALCON with flat, dead-eyed STARES.

 

UNCOMFORTABLE with the dead-eyed STARING, IVAN looks out the SUBURBAN's SIDE WINDOW just in time to SEE CYRIL's AUTO REPAIR, where CYRIL and THREE OTHER MEN are already standing around the FIAT, POINTING and LAUGHING.

 

DISHEARTENED, IVAN turns away from the WINDOW. But THEN, like a RAY of WARM SPRING SUNSHINE, he feels RESSMORE's TOUCH on his ARM--

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Look, my love **\--**!

 

RESSMORE points AHEAD. IVAN looks-- and SEES, through the WINDSHIELD of the SUBURBAN, a HUGE ROADSIDE SIGN. A PHOTOGRAPH of a SMILING, THIN-FACED WOMAN, her BLACK HAIR tastefully STREAKED WITH GRAY, her EYES as FREAKISHLY BLUE as IVAN's, flanked by PHOTOS of CHEESE and ASSORTED BARNYARD ANIMALS and the WORDS

 

**NANA'S FAITH-HEALING and CHEESE FACTORY. BE SURE TO VISIT OUR GIFT SHOP and PETTING ZOO!**

 

RESSMORE GRIPS IVAN's HAND. IVAN's EYES fill with TEARS of HAPPINESS.

 

IVAN: **After all our struggles... our trials... an end to our suffering was in sight! But-- oh!-- the naivety of triumph--! The price... of joy!**

 

Unable to RESIST the DISPLAY of ELECTRONIC BLING before HIM, FALCON suddenly DIVES at the NEAREST hand-held GAME.

 

CHAOS ERUPTS in the BACK of the SUBURBAN. CUT TO:

 

AERIAL SHOT of the AWESOMELY FLAT, WIDE-OPEN NOTHING that is MANITOBA in WINTER. As the SUBURBAN turns into the DRIVEWAY leading to the grounds of NANA'S FAITH-HEALING and CHEESE FACTORY, the SOUNDS of CHAOS in the BACK of the SUV FADE to the GORGEOUS STRAINS of the _THEME TO: CRY/FLY._ A CHORUS of ANGELIC VOICES SINGS:

 

**_But when you cry_ **

**_Don't fly_ **

**_Your heart can never soar_ **

**_So don't cry_ **

**_But fly_ **

**_And destiny is yours...!_ **

**_  
_**  
[FADE]

 

*****

*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] Reunion**

 

*****

 

OPEN ON:

 

WIDE SHOT: NANA'S FAITH-HEALING and CHEESE FACTORY, on the SHORE of picturesque LAKE LESSERPIG. SLOW PAN across quaint BARNS, a CHEESE-FACTORY BUILDING, and a GIFT SHOP, all in spotless CLAPBOARD WHITE.

 

OUTSIDE a beautiful big white two-story FARMHOUSE we SEE the SUBURBAN, parked next to IVAN and RESSMORE's STUFF, piled in a TIDY HEAP. IVAN, FALCON, and RESSMORE are there, too. As is BETTY. IVAN has what looks like HALF of a purple PUCK-SHAPED BRUISE over his RIGHT EYE.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK.] We're grateful to yeh, Betty. [Looking BALEFULLY at FALCON. Who looks INNOCENTLY back.] And I'm fookin' sorry about the ruckus.

 

BETTY: [In FLASHBACK, with a FRIENDLY, DISMISSIVE WAVE of her HAND.] Aw, that's nothin'. That's one mean vulture ya got there! [She LOOKS toward the BARN.] Well, here's Bob. He'll see to ya. You folks take care, y'hear?

 

With a HALE SMILE of FAREWELL, BETTY gets BACK into the SUBURBAN. RICKY and the other KIDS wave from the WINDOWS as BETTY turns the SUV around and HEADS BACK to the HIGHWAY.

 

MID-SHOT, IVAN and RESSMORE’s P.O.V.:

 

BOB approaches. He is MIDDLE-AGED and MODERATELY GRIZZLED and has what might be called a LONG, MUTT-CASUAL face. An EXPRESSION to match. He wears old JEANS, a TAN BARN COAT over a BLUE-CHECKED FLANNEL SHIRT, and a RED STOCKING CAP. He might be TALL, were it not for the FACT that his posture is like a FREEZE-FRAME of a LANDSLIDE. [ _Not to be an alarmist, but if we can't get Bill Murray for this part, we'll have to scrap the entire project. Thank you.- The Screenwriter._ ]

 

BOB [In FLASHBACK, as he SHAKES IVAN'S HAND]: Hi, I'm Bob, Nana's married lover. You must be her estranged son, the weird falcon-keeper Ivan.

 

IVAN [In FLASHBACK]: I prefer "peculiar falcon-keeper," actually. Amm. Wait. How did yeh know?

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] How did I know? The eyes, man. Scary. Fucking. Eyes. [To RESSMORE, as they SHAKE HANDS.] Hi. Bob. Nice to meet you. [Nodding toward IVAN.] Have you ever seen him blink? Even once?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, her VOICE like the SWEET MUSK of a DUSTY-PINK ROSE at DUSK.] Ressmore. Jannia Ressmore. And, now that you are mentioning it, no.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, NODDING.] Suppose you kids want to see The Wizard. This way.

 

BOB leads RESSMORE and IVAN up onto the ALL-SEASON PORCH that surrounds the BIG WHITE FARMHOUSE and KNOCKS on the FRAME of the FARMHOUSE's SCREEN DOOR.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] She likes to keep it locked. We get kooks out here like you wouldn’t believe. [He KNOCKS AGAIN and BELLOWS:] Hey, Nana, open the hell up!

 

CLOSEUP: WHITE WOODEN FARMHOUSE DOOR. From INSIDE the HOUSE, we HEAR a MEDIEVAL CLUNKING of LOCKS being UNLOCKED.

 

Then: the WOODEN FARMHOUSE DOOR OPENS, and WE SEE--

 

The RECLUSIVE and BRILLIANT FAITH-HEALER and ARTIST **NANA KUNNING!!!**

 

CLOSEUP on NANA. We see her as IVAN sees her. Her FACE, THIN, PALE, AGELESSLY MIDDLE-AGED. And BEAUTIFUL. The GRAY tastefully STREAKING her LONG, RAVEN-HUED HAIR. Her EYES of FREAKISH BLUE.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, half WHISPER, half JOYFUL BLURT--] _Ma--!_

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, looking at IVAN BLANKLY] Who...?

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, his voice REVERENTLY LOWERED] Your son, Nana. Ivan.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, turning her BLANK LOOK to BOB.] No, really, Bob: _who._..?

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, very QUIETLY.] Remember that weird kid you told me about? The one with the _bee-eye-are-dee-ess_...?

 

As he SPEAKS, BOB rolls his EYES SURREPTITIOUSLY toward FALCON, who is PERCHED on IVAN’s left FOREARM.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, as her SCARY EYES LIGHT UP with RECOGNITION.] Oh: _Ivan_. _That_ Ivan. Hi...!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, nearly OVERCOME with EMOTION.] Ma. Oh, Ma! Fook.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] Yeah... okaaay. [She looks from IVAN to RESSMORE.] What can I do for you people?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] I am Jannia Ressmore, a journalist. Your estranged son, the peculiar falcon-keeper Ivan, is my lover.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Yeh’ve been gone for over ten years, Ma! I’ve come t’ ask yer forgiveness! Ah, fook, it’s been so long! I want t’ be yer _son_ again...! I want yeh t’ be me _ma_...!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, with BRITTLE PATIENCE, to IVAN] I left a note. Didn’t you see it?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] There was-- amm-- a piece of paper on th’-- amm--

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] Yep, that’s the one.[Looking PLEASANTLY back at RESSMORE.]You said you’re a journalist, Miss Ressmore, right? Care to come in...?

 

SMILING, NANA opens the DOOR and DRAWS RESSMORE INSIDE. She then SLAMS the DOOR in IVAN’s FACE. From INSIDE the HOUSE, we hear a MEDIEVAL CLUNKING of LOCKS being LOCKED. IVAN, FALCON, and BOB are left on the PORCH.

 

A profound PAUSE. A long moment of SILENCE.

 

THEN, from INSIDE the HOUSE, we HEAR: NANA and RESSMORE, TALKING. And LAUGHING. And GIGGLING. And SNORTING.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] Well, that’s me off the hook for the rest of the afternoon.[Tactfully SNIFFING the sleeve of IVAN's JACKET.] This could just be me spitballing, but I think you're gonna fit right in around here. Let me guess: Montreal Limburger...?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, BLEAKLY.] What...?

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] Quebec gorgonzola?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] [Looking BLANK.] I don't understand what you're **\--**

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] That's okay. Beer?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, trying not to sound as GLUM as he FEELS.] No, t’anks.

 

From a HUGE WHITE CHEST COOLER on the LEFT END of the PORCH, BOB takes a bottle of KOKANEE. He steps OUTSIDE. IVAN follows. They stand on the PORCH STEPS, surveying the LAKE, the tidy GROUNDS of NANA’S FAITH-HEALING and CHEESE FACTORY, and the FROZEN BEAUTY of NATURE.

 

With IVAN overcome with EMOTIONAL CONTEMPLATION, FALCON takes an opportunity to STRETCH his WINGS. He FLIES OFF, toward the BARNS and the PETTING ZOO.

 

A MOMENT PASSES--

 

Then, from IVAN’s and BOB’s P.O.V.: a HONKING, BRAYING, SPITTING sound approaches from the RIGHT.

 

IVAN and BILL watch as FALCON SOARS PAST, carrying a pretty PINK LLAMA HALTER in his TALONS. He is PURSUED by a FURIOUS BLACK LLAMA.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK. Pithily.] That's the secret.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, watching as FALCON lands in a TREE and TAUNTS the FURIOUS LLAMA by DANGLING the PINK HALTER just out of REACH.] Fook. Of what, Bob?

 **  
**  
BOB: [In FLASHBACK] The best cheese in Canada. Llama milk.

 

BEER BOTTLE in HAND, BOB ambles down off the PORCH STEPS. IVAN follows. They go and sit at a wooden PICNIC TABLE situated between the FARMHOUSE and MODEST but VERY PRETTY LAKE LESSERPIG. After a TIME, and MUCH FURIOUS SPITTING and HISSING [out of frame], the LLAMA walks by SMUGLY with the PINK HALTER hanging from its MOUTH. FALCON, looking FLUSTERED, flies off after some OTHER DAMN THING.

 

It is COMFORTABLY WARM in the direct SUNLIGHT. BOB drinks his BEER and says something PROFOUND. Possibly about CHEESE. He sets the BEER BOTTLE on the TABLE near his ELBOW. He and IVAN share a MOMENT of MANLY SILENCE.

 

A WINGED SHADOW passes ACROSS THEM.

 

BOB reaches for his BEER. The BOTTLE is GONE.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] What the hell, eh...?

 **  
**  
An EMPTY BEER BOTTLE somersaults out of the SKY and HITS IVAN in the HEAD, right above his LEFT EYE.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Oh, the fook.

 **  
**  
Before BOB can ASK if IVAN IS OKAY, FALCON soars past LOPSIDEDLY, like a CRIPPLED B-17. He FLIES HEAVILY into the NEAR SIDE of the FARMHOUSE and FLOPS DOWN into a SNOWBANK.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK. Looking toward FALCON as he RUBS his HEAD.] Fook.

 **  
**  
CLOSEUP: FALCON lies on his BACK in the SNOWBANK. He is PASSED-OUT DRUNK. He is SNORING.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] That is a troubled bird.

 

IVAN nods SAGELY.

 

IVAN: **And so it was that I told this man-- this stranger-- who nonetheless was kind enough to offer a sympathetic ear-- how fate had shaped my life. How I came to fly only those birds who were too dangerous or difficult for others to tame. How it was my calling. My mission. My dream....**

 

CUE EPIC FLASHBACK MONTAGE as MUSIC SOARS on the SOUNDTRACK: IVAN falling OUT of the FIR TREE with the SQUIRREL attached to his HEAD. IVAN sharing a WHITE CASTLE HAMBURGER with FALCON. IVAN getting PUNCHED in the NOSE by that WOMAN in the CHAIN-MAIL T-SHIRT at the RENAISSANCE FESTIVAL.

 

IVAN: [CONTINUING] **What makes a bird “bad”...? Oh, cold-hearted fate! My beloved Falcon-- orphaned shortly after birth in a freak nesting-box accident high above the savage streets of Toronto-- was raised by... crows! They gave him the comfort, the love, of a family. But they also taught him to... _bully_. To _cheat_. To _steal_....**

 

CUE SECOND-LEVEL FLASHBACK: A MONTAGE of CROW CRIME. Young FALCON and his ADOPTIVE “FAMILY” stealing CELL PHONES, MP3 PLAYERS, WRIST WATCHES and WALLETS. Ganging up on FLOCKS of PIGEONS. Swiping HOT DOGS and GIANT SOFT PRETZELS from STREET VENDORS.

 

IVAN: [CONTINUING] **A rampage of destruction that continued, unabated, _unstoppable_ , until one fateful day when--**

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] Suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask: Are you okay?

 

IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] What do yeh mean: am I okay?

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] You keep talking to someone who-- umm-- who doesn't seem to be here.

 

IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] Someone who-- Fook. Y' can _hear_ that?

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] The voiceover? That's what you're doing, isn't it? If so, then yeah, I can hear it. Which really makes no sense at all, if you think about it--

 

BOB looks at IVAN. IVAN, trying to "THINK ABOUT IT" and not really SUCCEEDING, looks BLANKLY BACK at HIM.

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] [Speaking SLOWLY and CLEARLY.] **\--** because if that _is_ you, then that voiceover is coming from the future.

 

IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK, SOFTLY.] The fook.

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] Yeah, I know. Deep, right?

 **  
**  
IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] I think I'd like a beer now.

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] [Getting UP.] Wise man.

 

BOB goes to the PORCH and comes back with FOUR more BOTTLES of BEER. He offers TWO to IVAN and sits back DOWN. We hear FALCON SNORING in the SNOWBANK. IVAN drinks his first BEER and looks out at PERFECTLY ADEQUATE LAKE LESSERPIG.

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] Whenever you're ready, man. No pressure.

 

IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] [ A shy MUMBLE.] It's just that I-- amm-- I never realized--

 **  
**  
BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] **\--** that people could hear you--?

 

IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] **\--** doin' the whole voiceover thing, yeah. [Sheepishly scratching his HEAD.] Fook.

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] If it's any consolation, you have a very nice voiceover voice. Or you _will_ have a very nice voiceover voice.

 

IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] Fook.

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] No, I mean it. [He STAGGERS AMIABLY back to the PORCH, retrieves two more BOTTLES of BEER, and hands one to IVAN.]

 

IVAN: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] T'anks, man.

 

BOB: [In FIRST-LEVEL FLASHBACK] [SITTING back DOWN and LOOKING SAGELY OUT at the LAKE] _Da nada._ Take your time.

 

And so: TIME PASSES. SLOW PAN across the SUITABLY BLEAK VISTA of LAKE LESSERPIG. Then: SLOW PAN back across the PICNIC TABLE, where we NOW SEE a veritable FOREST of EMPTY BEER BOTTLES.

 

IVAN: [In VOICEOVER, sounding slightly SLURRED as SECOND-LEVEL FLASHBACK finally CONTINUES:] **And then-- the final job. The job that would forever shplatter the annals of Toronto street crime with the blood of the guilty and the innoshent alike...!**

 

CUE SECOND-LEVEL FLASHBACK: The FATEFUL RAID ON the BIG POUTINE TRUCK that’s perpetually PARKED on QUEEN STREET WEST. FALCON and his CROW FAMILY ATTACK! But the COPS are WAITING. VIOLENCE ERUPTS! GUNFIRE! NETS! Think the FINALE of _BONNIE and CLYDE,_ only with BIRDS! CLOUDS of BLACK FEATHERS BURSTING in TASTEFUL SLOW MOTION!

 

CLOSEUP: FALCON, NETTED and PINNED to the PAVEMENT! His LIFE is SPARED because he is on the ENDANGERED SPECIES LIST. But seeing his CROW PALS GUNNED DOWN and DRAGGED AWAY will HAUNT HIM for the REST of HIS LIFE!

 

SECOND-LEVEL FLASHBACK: LATER. We SEE a DEPRESSED and BITTER YOUNG IVAN, with one BLACK EYE, in JAIL for FIGHTING.

 

CLOSEUP: YOUNG IVAN’s FACE. Why is he so BITTER, so HOPELESS? We watch a TEAR roll down his CHEEK as we FADE TO

 

SUB-SECOND-LEVEL-FLASHBACK: NANA, finishing a WEEK-LONG _OM_ before leaving IVAN a CRYPTIC MESSAGE and ABANDONING HIM FOREVER. Her PENMANSHIP is AWFUL, the PAPER stained with HERBAL TEA: _**Have gone to heal in. I forgive. Find myself. Mom.**_

 

SECOND-LEVEL-FLASHBACK. BACK to the JAIL: Across from IVAN, in a CAGE, DEJECTED, his MAGNIFICENT FEATHERS BEDRAGGLED, sits FALCON.

 

DINNER TIME. The JAILER walks THROUGH, a FACELESS, TOWERING EMBODIMENT of UNIFORMED OPPRESSION. He ROUGHLY SHOVES DENTED STEEL PLATES through the FEEDING SLOTS on the CELL DOORS.

 

CLOSEUPS: VELVEETA POUTINE for IVAN, HAMBURGER for FALCON.

 

The JAILER STRIDES AWAY. Once the ECHOES of his HEAVY FOOTSTEPS have DIED and a TOMB-LIKE SILENCE has again DESCENDED in the CELL BLOCK, something metallic RATTLES onto the COLD CONCRETE FLOOR and SKITTERS toward IVAN.

 

From between the BARS of his CELL, IVAN LOOKS. And SEES on the CONCRETE FLOOR:

 

The JAILER's KEYS, on a STEEL RING.

 

IVAN looks from the KEYS to FALCON. He finds FALCON LOOKING BACK. THEIR EYES MEET. An UNBREAKABLE BOND is FORMED.

 

MID-SHOT, FLOOR-LEVEL, from EXTERIOR CELL: IVAN, STRAINING to REACH the KEYS. TRIUMPH! in his EYES as his FINGERS close on the RING....

 

IVAN: [In the PRESENT, CONTINUING] **And then, once our shoals-- souls-- were joined in the unblur-brurphable-blurkable bombs of firmship, we umm, amm...**

 

SOUNDTRACK: DEAD AIR as IVAN's VOICEOVER comes to a HALT. The WIND whispers SOFTLY through the FIRS by the LAKE. A BIRD twitters. Other than that: SILENCE.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, his INDEX FINGER WOBBLING a bit as he POINTS.] Wouldya look at that--

 

FALCON, a bit WORSE for WEAR, has woken up HUNGRY and is trying to catch a RABBIT. Obviously, FALCON is seeing DOUBLE: he keeps going after the RABBIT that REALLY ISN'T THERE. The RABBIT that IS there sits about a FOOT to FALCON's LEFT, calmly nibbling GRASS.

 

FALCON makes one more POUNCE at the RABBIT-- which hops CALMLY out of REACH without a break in its NIBBLING-- before TIPPING BEAK-FIRST into the SNOW.

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK, BLEARILY puffing up a TINY CLOUD of SNOW.] Phuuuh- _whit._

 

And then: a LLAMA-SHAPED SHADOW falls across FALCON! LLAMA has come for HIS REVENGE!

 

FALCON knows it is at an END! His LIFE of AMORAL PROFLIGACY and LARCENY is about to come to a CLOSE! DEFEATED, FAMISHED, and RIDICULOUSLY HUNG OVER, he looks up DEJECTEDLY to SEE--

 

LLAMA: [In FLASHBACK, looking DOWN at FALCON.] Muh _wonk_...?

 

FALCON, SQUINTING against the SUNLIGHT BLAZING over LLAMA's SHOULDER, looks up at LLAMA BLANKLY.

 

LLAMA: [In FLASHBACK, nodding his LLAMA HEAD toward his woolly black LLAMA BACK.] MuhWONK!

 

FALCON BLINKS UNBELIEVINGLY, then STAGGERS to his FEET. LLAMA stands PATIENTLY while FALCON CLAMBERS DRUNKENLY up onto HIS BACK. Then LLAMA trots across the WIDE, SNOWY YARD to the GIFT SHOP.

 

At the GIFT SHOP, LLAMA HALTS. He and FALCON look in PERPLEXITY at the DOOR.

 

CLOSEUP on SIGN on GIFT-SHOP DOOR: **“Back in 5 minutes.”**

 

LLAMA and FALCON PEER IN through the CURTAINED WINDOW on the DOOR. Inside, the GIFT SHOP is DARK.

 

LLAMA and FALCON exchange a LOOK. _FIVE MINUTES, OUR (RESPECTIVELY) WOOLLY and FEATHERED ASSES,_ the LOOK seems to SAY.

 

REVELATION! With that LOOK from LLAMA, FALCON knows he has found a KINDRED SPIRIT. The FOG of BEERY HANGOVER LIFTING from his SOUL, FALCON spreads his POWERFUL WINGS, flies up to the PEAK of the GIFT-SHOP ROOF, and BEGINS a SHARP-EYED LOOKOUT.

 

BELOW, LLAMA turns CASUALLY away from the GIFT-SHOP DOOR. He then SURVEYS the WIDE EXPANSE of the YARD with his BEAUTIFUL, LIQUID-DARK, DOE-LIKE LLAMA EYES, and SPLINTERS the DOOR with a SINGLE KICK of his MIGHTY HIND LEGS!

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, still WATCHING from his PLACE at the PICNIC TABLE] Well, I'll be damned. [To IVAN:] Hey, man, check it out **\--**

 

IVAN, SITTING with his right ELBOW on the PICNIC TABLE and his HEAD propped against his HAND, doesn't RESPOND. BOB NUDGES HIM. IVAN SLIDES OFF the PICNIC-TABLE BENCH, lands FACE-DOWN in the SNOW, and, LIKE FALCON BEFORE HIM, commences a DRUNKEN SNORING.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK: SOFTLY, while a RUCKUS in the GIFT SHOP commences in the BACKGROUND.] Aww, heck.

 

With an almost FATHERLY AFFECTION, BOB PICKS IVAN UP and CARRIES HIM TOWARD the HOUSE as

 

We CRANE or DOLLY BACK to the GIFT SHOP: FALCON AND LLAMA HAPPILY CONTINUE their RAMPAGE. Their FEASTING. Smoked fish. A huge wheel of cheese. Hot dogs. Soup mix. Granola. Popcorn. Fudge. Laffy Taffy. Snow globes and a rubber tomahawk. Key rings and souvenir t-shirts.

 

And the FORMING of a NEW, UNBREAKABLE FRIENDSHIP...!

 

[FADE]

 

*****  
*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] ~~Final Destination~~ The Destination of Finality**

 

*****

 

The NEXT DAY: (Which looks VERY MUCH like the SNOW-COVERED, CLEAR-BLUE-SKY, COLD-AS-EVER-LOVING-HELL DAY that CAME BEFORE.)

 

EXTERIOR WIDE: NANA KUNNING's FARMHOUSE near the SHORE of REALLY-QUITE-AWE-INSPIRING-IN-A-SLIGHTLY-SMALLER-WAY LAKE LESSERPIG, its WHITE CLAPBOARD EXTERIOR practically GLOWING in the SUN. On the DRIVEWAY, a RUSTED RED DODGE PICKUP sets IDLING not far from the FARMHOUSE PORCH, its TAILPIPE sending CLOUDS of EXHAUST into the FRIGID CLEAR AIR.

 

CUT TO: INTERIOR of FARMHOUSE PORCH: Between BOB's BEER COOLER and A HUGE GREEN TACKLE BOX, IVAN, covered to the NECK in a PILE of BLANKETS, the FLEECE TOPMOST of WHICH bears the LOGO of the WINNIPEG JETS, REGAINS CONSCIOUSNESS.

 

**IVAN: Cold and alone, I woke. The agony in my skull bespoke the pain of a million thundering-- Oh, fuck it.**

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, sitting up and HOLDING his HEAD in BOTH HANDS.] Oh, the fookin’ fook.

 

WE WATCH as—

 

SLOWLY as a LORIS on THORAZINE, SQUINTING against the CRUEL OVERABUNDANCE of MORNING SUNLIGHT in the PORCH, a HIDEOUSLY HUNG-OVER IVAN takes in HIS SURROUNDINGS—

 

ON the TACKLE BOX— likely COURTESY of BOB— sit a BLUE PLASTIC SOLO CUP of MILK and a CHEESE SANDWICH on a PAPER PLATE. His HANDS SHAKING, IVAN takes a QUEASY NIBBLE of the SANDWICH. Then, as he GINGERLY BREAKS a BRITTLE SCRIM of ICE off the SURFACE of the MILK, we HEAR, from INSIDE the FARMHOUSE—

 

A RUCKUS! Coming CLOSER—!

 

WIDE-EYED and ALARMED, IVAN SCOOTS back between the BEER COOLER and the TACKLE BOX. We— and HE— WATCH as—

 

The INTERIOR DOOR of the PORCH SWINGS VIOLENTLY OPEN, and NANA KUNNING— holding SOME OLD GUY by the BELT of HIS JEANS and the COLLAR of HIS BROWN CARHARTT BARN COAT— comes BARRELING THROUGH—!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, as SHE KICKS OPEN the OUTER DOOR and TOSSES the OLD GUY OFF the PORCH] You are **healed** , Fergus! Go in **peace**!

 

FERGUS: [In FLASHBACK, as he PAINFULLY PICKS HIMSELF UP off of the SNOWY GROUND] Coupon said I get a bottle of "mystical remedy," too, Nana…!

 

BARB, FERGUS's WIFE: [In FLASHBACK, HOLLERING from the DRIVER's SIDE WINDOW of the WAITING RUSTED-OUT RED DODGE PICKUP] Stop botherin' Nana an' get yer worthless butt in the truck, Fergus!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, MUTTERING as she DIGS in the HUGE POCKETS of the CARDIGAN she's WEARING] Yeah, yeah, yeah: whatever. [She PULLS a BOTTLE— which MAY or MAY NOT be a BOTTLE of ROOT BEER SCHNAPPS with the LABEL SCRAPED OFF— from HER POCKET and LOBS it at FERGUS.] There ya go, Fergus…!

 

BARB: [In FLASHBACK, as FERGUS BOBBLES the CATCH, BENDS OVER PAINFULLY to PICK UP the BOTTLE of NANA's "MYSTICAL REMEDY," and HOBBLES to the PASSENGER SIDE of the DODGE] You comin' by later for coffee, Nana? Got a new recipe for peach upside-down cake!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, CHEERILY] Wouldn't miss it, Barb! You take care, y'hear? You too, Fergus, you old coot!

 

NANA WAVES as BARB and FERGUS DRIVE AWAY. As SHE SHUTS the OUTER DOOR of the PORCH, IVAN EASES NERVOUSLY back OUT from BETWEEN the BEER COOLER and the TACKLE BOX—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] M—muh—mornin', Ma—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, as she TURNS to IVAN with a SURPRISED FROWN] Ivan? You're still here—?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, HUNG-OVER, HALF-FROZEN, and STAMMERING] I— amm—

 

Like a VISION of PARADISE, RESSMORE, wearing a BEAUTIFUL POWDER-BLUE DRESSING GOWN, EMERGES from the INTERIOR DOOR of the PORCH. She PUTS an ARM around NANA's WAIST and SWEETLY KISSES her CHEEK—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, to NANA, her VOICE a SUGAR-MERINGUE MURMUR] Your omelette is prepaired, _mon cheri_ …!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, now STARING in DISBELIEF, TOO] The foo— _Jannia_ …?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, with the SLIGHTEST HEAVENLY GLANCE IVAN's WAY] — Ethan…?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, almost FATALLY CONFUSED] — _Edwin_ —?

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, PEREMPTORILY] — _ **Ivan**_ , get off the porch: you'll spook my customers. [ A teensy-weensy BIT more GENTLY, as IVAN looks STAMMERY and-- MORE IMPORTANTLY-- RESSMORE looks MILDLY ALARMED] Why don't you go give Bob a hand down at the petting zoo…?

 

Before IVAN can DO ANYTHING BUT STAMMER. And STARE—

 

NANA and RESSMORE RE-ENTER the FARMHOUSE. The INNER DOOR SLAMS SHUT. A MEDLEY of SOLID MEDIEVAL LOCKING CLUNKS. And MUFFLED LAUGHTER.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, STRICKEN, STARING in DISBELIEF at the DOOR as HE LURCHES PAINFULLY to his FEET] — _fook_.

 

[FADE]

 

LATER that MORNING—

 

IVAN stands with BOB at the PETTING ZOO. BOB leans on the FENCE of the ANIMAL ENCLOSURE, watching a LITTLE DARK-HAIRED GIRL in a PASTEL BLUE PUFF JACKET and her THIRTY-SOMETHING, prematurely balding DAD feed LLAMA. LLAMA politely nibbles FEED PELLETS from the LITTLE GIRL’s PALM while FALCON, perched on the FENCE, deftly lifts DAD’s WALLET from the BACK POCKET of his KHAKIS.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, WATCHING and TROUBLED] Do you think-- amm-- Bob, is my mum banging Jannia?

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] Who? Banging-- Oh: you mean Ressmore?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, BLUSHING as SUBTLY as an ALBERTA PRAIRIE FIRE] Amm. Yeah.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] Of course she is. [FALCON flies over QUIETLY with the WALLET. BOB takes it from him and surreptitiously RIFLES THROUGH the CONTENTS.] Thanks, man. [He removes a BILL or SEVERAL and HANDS the WALLET back to FALCON. FALCON flaps back over to the FENCE behind the LITTLE GIRL’S DAD and SLIPS the WALLET back into HIS PANTS POCKET. BOB gives FALCON an approving WINK and a THUMB’S UP.]

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] I know, I know, it’s fookin’ stupid of me even t’ think it-- I mean, what the _fook_ , right?-- but-- _**what?**_

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, slipping the FOLDED BILLS into his POCKET] All that stuff about cheesemaking? You mean you didn’t know…?

 

IVAN: Know...? No-- Amm. Oh, fook. No. Know what?

 

BOB: Umm-- [He stops. Shakes his HEAD.] Afraid you lost me, man.

 

IVAN [In FLASHBACK, making an effort to keep his VOICE DOWN]: No, I didn’t know that me fookin’ ma is bangin’ me fookin’ girlfriend.

 

BOB: Oh, man. Ewan--

 

IVAN: Ivan.

 

BOB: Ivan, man-- Aw, heck, I thought you knew. All that talk about cheesemaking? It’s a _code_.

 

IVAN: But this is a cheese factory.

 

BOB: And a faith-healing place. And a petting zoo. And a gift shop. And a _code_. You have to expand your metaphorical horizons, buddy.

 

IVAN stands DUMBSTRUCK. Concerned, LLAMA and FALCON come OVER. FALCON settles on IVAN'S SHOULDER and GENTLY THREADS BITS of STRAW  
into his CAP and HAIR.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, CONTINUING] Might call it a victimless crime, actually. No. Nope, that’s not right. Happens pretty infrequently, though, come to think about it. No more than five or six-- seven, maybe-- No more than seven times a year or so.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, BLINKING and STUNNED] Fook—

 

LEAVING BOB, LLAMA, and FALCON at the PETTING CORRAL, IVAN STALKS OFF, followed by SEVERAL UNBEARABLY CUTE PYGMY GOATS.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, watching IVAN GO] Ahh, kid— [NOTING the GOATS in IVAN's WAKE] — _Kids_. Heck. Whatever.

 

A FRESH GROUP of PARENTS and CHILDREN are APPROACHING the PETTING CORRAL. BOB— FLANKED by LLAMA and FALCON— TURNS to GREET THEM—

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, SMILING] Welcome to the petting zoo, folks! Getcher feed right this way— only a dollar a bag…!

 

[FADE]

 

OPEN ON: FARMHOUSE EXTERIOR. In a WIDE SHOT, IVAN, followed by HIS ENTOURAGE of UNBEARABLY CUTE and TINY GOATS, comes TRAMPING PURPOSEFULLY ACROSS the SNOW-COVERED YARD and GOES UP the STEPS to the PORCH.

 

**IVAN: Anger— and disbelief— gave me courage. And so it was— for the first time in my life— I dared to disobey me— amm— my mother, the elusive and brilliant faith-healer Nana Kunning!**

 

TIME PASSES—

 

IVAN, STAKING out the PORCH of NANA's FARMHOUSE, PACES EDGILY BACK and FORTH while the THREE PYGMY GOATS EAT his CHEESE SANDWICH from EARLIER— and the PAPER PLATE— and the FROZEN MILK in the BLUE SOLO CUP. The CUP, TOO. They're STARTING on the WINNIPEG JETS FLEECE BLANKET when, DRESSED NOW in JEANS and a WHISPER-SOFT PINK CASHMERE SWEATER— and following a CHORUS of MEDIEVAL LOCK-CLUNKS from INSIDE the HOUSE— RESSMORE EMERGES from the INTERIOR DOOR of the PORCH.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, as TERSELY to RESSMORE as he CAN MANAGE—] We have t' talk—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] You are absolutely right, my love—

 

IVAN's EYES WIDEN as—

 

NANA steps from the INTERIOR DOORWAY and JOINS RESSMORE on the PORCH!

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, still to IVAN—] It is time to leave.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, _soto voce,_ as she nudges RESSMORE GENTLY in the RIBS] “… for _you_.”

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, SURREPTITIOUSLY, to NANA] What, my dearest-dearest…?

 

IVAN looks at BOTH of THEM BLANKLY.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, as she FIXES IVAN with a BRITTLE, REASSURING SMILE] “…for _you_ to— to—”

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, with a SWEET LAUGH] Ah, right…! _Mais oui!_ How silly of me…! [To IVAN, her face going PERFECTLY— and CHILLINGLY— STILL] It is time for _you_ to leave, my love.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, his BLANKNESS giving way to INCREDULITY] The fook— What?

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, still SMILING] Clear out or I'm calling the cops, you shiftless bum.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, STUNNED] But— but, Ma— our reunion! Our bein' a family again! What about tha—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] You abandoned your helpless wife and tiny baby son, Ivan.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Wait—wha— you told me _Ma_ about that?

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, cozying up to RESSMORE's SIDE] She _is_ practically family, Ivan.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] An' I'm _not_ …?!?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Your _son_. Your helpless _wife_ , alone in that wilderness—!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, to RESSMORE] Did yeh not see the size of that fookin' axe? And she's got a whole safe full of artillery t' boot. She could take out half a' NATO with what's in that cabin—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, a HORRIFIED WHISPER] You _abandoned_ them, Ivan.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Like _you_ never abandoned anyone, Ma…!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, looking LEGITIMATELY BLANK] I never— When did I abandon anyone?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, his FREAKISH BLUE EYES filling with TEARS OF PAIN and FRUSTRATION] I was only ten fookin' years old, Ma…!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, blinking FREAKISH BLUE EYES of her OWN] When was that?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] When yeh fookin' abandoned me!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] Oh, _that_. I thought we already went over this. Don't you remember? I left a note—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, trying not to BLUBBER] There— there was a piece of paper on th'— on th'—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] That's the one.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] You have hurt your mother enough, Ivan. [She HANDS him a SET OF CAR KEYS on a PINK "HELLO KITTY" KEYCHAIN] Please leave.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] You're givin' me your fookin' _car_ …?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] It means nothing to me. Ha. _Less_ than nothing. I _spit_ on that car. Go, my love.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] But if I'm yer love an' all—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Go.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] But I thought we—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, SCOWLING BEAUTIFULLY] Go.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, DESPERATELY] But, Tanya—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Jannia.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Jannia, I thought we were—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Go.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] — forever. I thought you an' I—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, smiling SMUGLY as she TAKES a CELL PHONE out of her CARDIGAN POCKET] Calling the cops.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] — were gonna be _t'gether. Forever_ -t'gether—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] _Dialing_ …!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, looking from RESSMORE to NANA and BACK AGAIN] The _fook_ — Ma, don't— Jannia, please listen t' me—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, on the PHONE] Hi, Earl? Nana Kunning here. Got another crackpot on the premises. You care t' send someone around with a TASER or maybe some SWAT gear, I'd appreciate it. [CHUCKLING] You, too. Yep, the woods are crawling with nuts this time of year. Bye!

 

NANA HANGS UP. She and RESSMORE face IVAN. A UNITED FRONT of FEMBOT-ESQUE IMPASSIVE EVIL.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] I have listened to you, Ivan. I will love you forever, but you are a _fool_ —

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, a sinister ECHO] A fool.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] — worthy only of pity.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] — and _contempt_.

 

IVAN FLINCHES in SOUL-SEARING AGONY. He meets RESSMORE's EYES IMPLORINGLY. RESSMORE HESITATES… GORGEOUSLY.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, to RESSMORE, REASSURINGLY] Just a bit of contempt. A teensy-weensy bit…?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, looking BEAUTIFULLY COMFORTED] Okay.

 

MUFFLED through the STORM WINDOWS of the PORCH, we hear the SOUND OF SIRENS APPROACHING!

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] Think it's time for you to hit the road, Ivan—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] — before the road is hitting _you_ …! Ha!

 

RESSMORE and NANA share a CHILLING LAUGH. IVAN, PANICKED, bolts for the DOOR. He STUMBLES OUT into the BLAZING ICY SUNLIGHT and DOWN the PORCH STEPS—

 

To his SURPRISE, FIAT, all REPAIRED, is WAITING RIGHT OUTSIDE. The WRECKER from CYRIL's TOWING and AUTO SERVICE is parked off to the SIDE. And, EVEN HERE, EVEN NOW, CYRIL and the OTHER GUYS from the REPAIR SHOP are STILL STANDING around FIAT, LAUGHING and POINTING.

 

The SIRENS are GETTING CLOSER. FUMBLING with the CAR KEYS, IVAN makes his way past CYRIL and the other GUYS from the SHOP.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, DESPERATE yet POLITE] Excuse me. Pardon me. Comin' through, comin' through….

 

IVAN REACHES FIAT'S DRIVER-SIDE DOOR. Then, before he realizes that he could have UNLOCKED the DOOR with the "UNLOCK" BUTTON on the KEY FOB, he DROPS the IGNITION KEY in the SNOW!

 

SUDDENLY, RESSMORE comes RUNNING OUT of the HOUSE and DOWN the PORCH STEPS. SHE is BEAUTIFULLY CRYING and ANGELICALLY TOUSLED. The GUYS from the SHOP MAKE WAY for HER like a BLOCK of LESSERLY ANGELIC BALSA WOOD in the FACE of GOD's AVENGING CHAINSAW—

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, her ANGEL'S HAND on IVAN'S ARM] No, my darling! Do not leave! I have changed my mind— and the mind of your estranged mother, the elusive and brilliant faith-healer Nana Kunning—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, TORN beyond all TEARING, his UNEARTHLY EYES betraying the TORMENT in his SOUL as his GAZE meets RESSMORE's] — who is also an artist and who performs all of her healings in complete secrecy?

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Yes, my dearest! Yes! Stay with us! We will live together, we three! Together we will explore the mysteries of life, of art! Oh, _mon cher_ —!

 

PASSIONATELY she kisses IVAN.

 

THE GUYS FROM THE REPAIR SHOP: [In FLASHBACK] _Awww_ …!

 

RESSMORE's and IVAN's LIPS PART. He GAZES at her TRANSFIXED, like a MAN in a DREAM. He BREATHES a SIGH like a TINY PUFF of STEAM into the ICY AIR.

 

CUT TO: NANA, looking down APPROVINGLY— if sort of CREEPILY— from the PORCH.

 

A BEAT. TIME seems to SLOW.

 

Two Beaumfocque POLICE SUVs speed up the DRIVE and, in a shower of SNOW, skid to a HALT right by the PORCH. Their SIRENS " _buh_ -LOOP" into SILENCE. Four Beaumfoque POLICE OFFICERS in full BUSH-COUNTRY TACTICAL GEAR leap OUT. They're carrying ASSAULT RIFLES in DUCK-HUNT TAN-AND-GREEN CAMO. They train their SCOPES on IVAN. Four points of RED LASER LIGHT bob on his BACK and CHEST and BEARDED FACE.

 

ONE OF THE POLICE OFFICERS: [In FLASHBACK] This da asshole, Nana? Ya want we should smoke 'im for ya…?

 

A MOMENT of SHEER TENSION! NANA and RESSMORE exchange a NERVOUS LOOK. CYRIL and the GUYS from the SHOP exhange NERVOUS LOOKS. Over at the PETTING CORRAL, BOB and LLAMA exchange a NERVOUS LOOK. IVAN looks NERVOUS, PERIOD.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, FINALLY—] You can hold off, Earl, thanks.

 

EARL: [In FLASHBACK, exchanging FRANKLY DISAPPOINTED LOOKS with his SWAT TEAM] You sure 'bout that, Nana?

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, maybe sounding a BIT DISAPPOINTED HERSELF] Yep. Thanks for makin' the trip, though. You an' Louise still comin' for coffee Thursday…?

 

EARL: [In FLASHBACK, with a SMILE, as the rest of the TACTICAL TEAM piles back into their BEAUMFOCQUE POLICE SUVs] You got any of them Toll House cookies lyin' around, an' that'd be a yeah-sure, you-betcha, Nana!

 

EARL loads his TACTICAL RIFLE into the BACK END of one of the BLACK SUVs and CLIMBS INTO the DRIVER'S SIDE of the CAB. A NEIGHBORLY WAVE, and HE and HIS TEAM TURN their BLATANTLY OMINOUS VEHICLES around and LEAVE the FARM.

 

A BEAT— as NANA and CYRIL and the SHOP GUYS in turn WAVE NEIGHBORLY GOODBYES to the SWAT TEAM—

 

After which— RESSMORE SMILES ANGELICALLY at IVAN. She caresses his BEARDED CHEEK and BENDS DOWN to PICK UP the RING of CAR KEYS from the SNOW at THEIR FEET.

 

THEN, just before her FINGERS reach their GOAL, FALCON SWOOPS IN like a FEATHERED GHOST FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION and FLIES OFF WITH THEM. The KEYS, that is. On the PINK "HELLO KITTY" KEYCHAIN.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] Oh, you naughty bird!

 

NONCHALANTLY, FALCON leaves the FARMHOUSE BEHIND and SOARS out over the SHORE of MAGNIFICENT-IN-ITS-OWN-SMALLER-WAY LAKE LESSERPIG.

 

Suddenly— FALCON DROPS the KEYS—!

 

A collective GASP. From RESSMORE and IVAN. From CYRIL and the GUYS from the REPAIR SHOP. From NANA. From BOB and LLAMA, watching from the PETTING CORRAL.

 

The "HELLO KITTY" KEYCHAIN SKITTERS across a BARE PATCH of ICE along the SHORE and STOPS RIGHT AT THE EDGE OF OPEN WATER.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, with the tone of a MERE MORTAL who has reached her LIMIT] Ivan, I do not mean to criticize-- you were once my heart, my dearest love, my soul made flesh— and I pray to the depths of my being that you will be again— but Falcon is a bit of an asshole, isn’t he...?

 

IVAN is STRICKEN by her WORDS. A BETRAYAL that CUTS him to his very CORE.

 

**IVAN: Her words struck me like a blow straight to my confused and suffering heart. A feeling of betrayal… that cut to my very core….**

 

While RESSMORE and NANA and the OTHERS WATCH, IVAN MARCHES across the SNOWY YARD. He REACHES the GRAVELLY SHORE of SUFFICIENTLY BLEAK LAKE LESSERPIG.

 

**IVAN: And yet I knew— despite the pain, the agony that seared my soul— her words had set me free…!**

 

IVAN STANDS for a MOMENT on the SHORE, surveying the COLD, EMPTY HORIZON. Then, with DETERMINATION, with PURPOSE, he STRIDES out onto the ICE to RETRIEVE the KEYS.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK] No, my semi-former love. Do not...!

 

IVAN IGNORES HER. He WALKS to the very EDGE of the OPEN WATER and PICKS UP the KEYS. Clutching the "HELLO KITTY" KEYCHAIN, not wanting RESSMORE to see the HOT TEARS in his EYES, he FACES the EXPANSE of LAKE BEFORE HIM.

 

IVAN begins to TURN, to RETURN to SHORE. Then he PAUSES—

 

The ICE shouldn't HOLD HIM. Yet it DOES. As if IVAN is LIGHTER than AIR. LIGHTER than THOUGHT— or IMAGINATION— ITSELF. It is a MIRACLE. FALCON FLIES PAST, his mighty WINGS carrying him toward the HORIZON. SLOWLY, BEATIFICALLY, IVAN SMILES.

 

**IVAN: It was then that I understood—**

 

— as FALCON banks powerfully against the CLEAR BLUE SKY and SOARS AGAIN toward the SHORE—

 

**IVAN: —I was one with the wind and the waves, with the water and sky—**

 

Over that COLD and WINDSWEPT DISTANCE, IVAN's and FALCON's EYES MEET:

 

CLOSEUP: FALCON

 

CLOSEUP: IVAN

 

**IVAN: Falcon had shown me the way—!**

 

As FALCON sails majestically TOWARD HIM, IVAN holds out his ARM—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, a FERVENT WHISPER] Thank you, Falcon—!

 

He LOOKS to FALCON, the EMBODIMENT of POWER, FREEDOM, and GRACE, who FLIES ever CLOSER. PROUDLY, IVAN holds his arm HIGHER, ready for FALCON'S LANDING.

 

Then, at the last second, FALCON SLIGHTLY ALTERS COURSE. He MISSES IVAN's ARM and, instead, EVER-SO-DAINTILY brushes IVAN's SHOULDER with his WING-TIP.

 

FALCON continues NONCHALANTLY on HIS WAY, as—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, his ARMS WINDMILLING] Yeh FOOKER, yeh—

 

— KNOCKED off-balance, IVAN falls HEAD-FIRST into the LAKE!

 

WIDE SHOT: A SPLASH as IVAN hits the ICY WATER and DISAPPEARS from VIEW. GASPS and SCREAMS and PANICKED "MUH-WONK"ings from the OBSERVERS on SHORE.

 

**IVAN: And thus began the flashback that was to divide one life from the next, to part my soul from the Great Now and that— which came before…!**

 

IVAN SINKS DOWN through the DEEP BLUE CRYSTAL of the FRIGID WATERS of FUNCTIONALLY DANGEROUS LAKE LESSERPIG. But almost IMMEDIATELY, he STOPS TRYING to SWIM for the SURFACE. The WILL TO STRUGGLE leaves his LIMBS, his HEART, his very SOUL. ABANDONING himself to his FATE, IVAN becomes a MAN SUSPENDED in DESTINY—

 

LONG SHOT, then MID SHOT, then a CLOSEUP ON IVAN's REALLY WEIRD EYES STARING… STARING… and FINALLY CLOSING, as in HIS MIND he SEES— or, more accurately, HEARS:

 

— IN FINAL FLASHBACK, through a gradual INCREASE in VOLUME, as though the VOICE that NOW FILLS HIS SKULL has been TALKING for SOME TIME—PERHAPS for ALL ETERNITY—

 

— HIS SISTER, GRETA KUNNING, SPEAKING from the DARKNESS:

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Ivan, get up, get up, get up. Ivan, I'm a WINDMILL. Ivan, I'm a MISSILE SILO. Get up, get up, get up. Ivan, I'm a STOCK EXCHANGE. Ivan, I'm a COMBINE. Ivan, I'm a SOUTH SEAS CANNIBAL—

 

CUE: EXTERIOR (as OPPOSED to INTERIOR) of IVAN's SKULL: We SEE the FACE of YOUNG IVAN, aged TEN, barely PEEKING OUT from beneath a HEAP of BLANKETS and a WORN DISNEY "HAWK MAN" COMFORTER. His EYES are SCRUNCHED SHUT at the TAIL END OF SLEEP. At the WORD "CANNIBAL," however, he FROWNS. His NOSE TWITCHES. He OPENS his EYES—

 

YOUNG IVAN's P.O.V.: Across his BEDROOM— a CLUTTER of OUTDOORSY CLOTHING and GEAR, FALCONRY STUFF, and one or two WORN TOYS— we SEE:

 

IVAN's SISTER, GRETA KUNNING, aged SIX, wearing JEANS, PINK MOON BOOTS, and a PINK SWEATSHIRT with a UNICORN appliqued on the FRONT. Her EYES are an ANGELIC POWDER BLUE; her SHINY BLONDE HAIR is pulled back in a PONYTAIL.

 

We ALSO SEE, on the FLOOR at GRETA's FEET:

 

A MAGNIFICENT RED-TAILED HAWK, its MIGHTY WINGS and BEAK tied DOWN and SHUT— RESPECTIVELY— with TWINE, being ROASTED ALIVE— over an OPEN FIRE— on a SPIT!

 

HAWK: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, MUFFLED, as HE LOOKS DESPERATELY at IVAN:] phuh- **whuuuht** —!

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as HE EXPLODES out from UNDER THE COVERS in a PAIR OF BLUE FLANNEL FOOTIE PAJAMAS] Holy FOOK! Holy fookin' SHIT—! HAWK!

 

PANICKED and HORRIFIED, IVAN pulls HAWK— still TIED to the SPIT— away from the FIRE. As GRETA watches, a SWEET SMILE on her FACE, IVAN DASHES from the ROOM and returns with a SOAKING-WET BATH TOWEL. He THROWS the TOWEL over the FIRE and STARTS to STOMP.

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, STOMPING, still PANICKED] Ouch— OUCH. Fook fook FOOK. OUCH—

 

NANA KUNNING, as YOUNG as THIS FLASHBACK DICTATES, RAVEN-HAIRED, her EYES the CLEAREST OTHER-WORLDLY SAPPHIRE, rustically GORGEOUS in JEANS and a QUILTED CHOCOLATE-and-CREAM-CHECKED FLANNEL SHIRT, appears in the DOORWAY of IVAN's BEDROOM. She holds to her RIGHT EAR the CURVED OLIVE-GREEN HANDSET of a NINETIES WALL PHONE at the very END of its CURLY-CORD TETHER.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, speaking into the PHONE] — I've gotta go, Nancy. Looks like my weird, worthless son is trying to burn down the house. [She ROLLS her EYES at SOMETHING NANCY SAYS.] Isn't that the truth? Drowning at birth? Sign me up! Anyway— see you at the faith-healin' rally, okay? No, of course we'll be there! Bye—!

 

NANA hangs up. She GLARES at IVAN. But, before SHE or IVAN can say a WORD, GRETA dashes to HER SIDE:

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, tugging on NANA's SLEEVE] Momma, Ivan _swore_ —! He said "Holy FOOK!" and "Holy fookin' SHIT!" and "Fook fook FOOK!"

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Is that _true_ , Ivan…?

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, gingerly SHIFTING HIS WEIGHT in the SINGED— and SOAKED— FOOTIES of his PAJAMAS] Ma, she tried to roast Hawk—! She was _cookin_ ' him right here on the—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, INDIGNANT] Ivan, how _could_ you…? [She DRAWS GRETA CLOSE. GRETA gazes UP at NANA ANGELICALLY.] She's _sick!_

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, looking from NANA to GRETA, who looks back at him ANGELICALLY— and SMUGLY] But— but, Ma—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Apologize, Ivan.

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] But, Ma, I didn't—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as GRETA SNUGGLES CLOSER to HER] _Apologize_.

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, very QUIETLY] Sorry, Ma. Sorry, Greta.

 

YOUNG IVAN then looks at HAWK, who, still TIED to the SPIT, is LOOKING INCREDULOUSLY at the WHOLE RIDICULOUS SCENE. Their EYES MEET—

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, silently MOUTHING the WORDS] Sorry, Hawk.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] That's better. But you must learn, Ivan, that actions have consequences— [After a MOMENT'S IMPERIOUS— yet WOODEN— THOUGHT and a SHARED GLANCE with GRETA] You're _walking_ to school today.

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, PAUSING— and BLANCHING— as he UNTIES HAWK] Okay, Ma.

 

 **IVAN-IVAN:** [In VOICEOVER, as YOUNG IVAN— in FINAL FLASHBACK— GAZES with his WEIRD BLUE EYES into SOME MYSTICAL MIDDLE DISTANCE. (NOTE: IVAN's VOICEOVER VOICE should have a bit of a GLUGGEDY-GLUG TONE. Ask the SOUND PEOPLE if "UNDERWATER" is an OPTION. A CHEAP OPTION.)] **Would I— would _we_ — never be free…?**

 

FADE—

 

SCENE CHANGE: We WATCH, in FINAL FLASHBACK, as YOUNG IVAN, wearing BROWN SOREL BOOTS, LEATHER CHOPPERS, a PINE-GREEN PARKA, and a BURGUNDY KNIT U of M GOLDEN GOPHERS CAP, a MASSIVE CANVAS BOOKBAG strapped to his BACK, HAWK perched on his ARM, walks SEVEN MILES to SCHOOL in the TOWN OF APPALD, in the ARCTIC WILDS of NORTHERN MINNESOTA. In the DEAD of WINTER. In the NINETEEN-NINETIES, no less.

 

CUE: YOUNG IVAN'S WALKING MONTAGE. IVAN TRUDGES, through KNEE-DEEP SNOW, along a COUNTRY ROAD. He passes a DAIRY FARM—

 

CLOSEUP: LARGE ROUND OUTDOOR THERMOMETER on WEATHERED RED BARN. The THERMOMETER NEEDLE hovers at -20.

 

WIDE-ANGLE SHOT of PRIMEVAL NORTHERN MINNESOTA FARM COUNTRY. In the DESOLATION of an OPEN FIELD, the SKELETAL RIB-CAGE and NECK BONES of a BRONTOSAURUS JUT from the SNOW. In a FEED LOT off to IVAN'S RIGHT, WOOLLY MAMMOTHS graze alongside a herd of DINGY HOLSTEINS. IVAN trudges up to a YELLOW DIAMOND-SHAPED HIGHWAY SIGN that reads "CAUTION: GLACIER CROSSING." IVAN PAUSES— as Minnesota school children in the ANCIENT NINETIES were taught to do— and carefully LOOKS BOTH WAYS and LISTENS for the TELLTALE RUMBLE of ICY INEXORABLE DEATH before continuing ON HIS WAY.

 

WE HEAR: The SOUND of a TRUCK ENGINE, JET-BRIGHT and BREATHY in the FRIGID AIR, approaching from BEHIND. The WHIRRY WHINE of TIRES on ICY ASPHALT. IVAN steps FARTHER onto the SNOW-COVERED SHOULDER of the COUNTRY ROAD— and nearly STUMBLES into the DITCH— as

 

A RUSTED-OUT RED FORD F-150 WHIZZES PAST at SPEED. We see—

 

NANA KUNNING at the WHEEL, her FABULOUS but INCREDIBLY DISTURBING BLUE EYES locked on the ROAD AHEAD. In the PASSENGER SEAT, we see—

 

GRETA KUNNING. As the FORD passes IVAN, she ROLLS DOWN the PASSENGER-SIDE WINDOW and STICKS OUT HER TONGUE at him. Not only THAT: she THROWS—

 

A RED TWELVE-OUNCE PLASTIC TUMBLER of ORANGE JUICE. CLOSEUP ON:

 

IVAN, as the TUMBLER hits him, in an EXPLOSION of JUICE, RIGHT IN THE HEAD.

 

FADE. FORWARD TO—

 

IVAN, on the FINAL LEG of his TREK TO SCHOOL, walking along a SNOW-COVERED SIDEWALK on the MAIN STREET of APPALD, MINNESOTA. He passes a ROW of rusted-out PICKUP TRUCKS OUTSIDE the TOWN DINER, the WALLEYE CAFE, each with a GIANT TROPHIE MUSKIE strapped to its HOOD. At the INTERSECTION of MAIN and the TOWN'S ONE OTHER ROAD, a COUNTY POLICE OFFICER amiably directs TRAFFIC around a FAMILY of POLAR BEARS sleeping in the SUN. IVAN is COVERED in ORANGE JUICE. ORANGE FROST shimmers on his STOCKING CAP and JACKET. Tiny ORANGE ICICLES hang from his BANGS and EYEBROWS.

 

FADE. FORWARD TO—

 

A BOY's LAVATORY in the APPALD ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. At the STEEL COMMUNAL RING-SINK, IVAN tries INEFFECTUALLY to WASH some of the NOW-MELTING ORANGE JUICE from HIMSELF and HAWK.

 

FORWARD TO—

 

IVAN, with HAWK on ONE ARM and HIS PARKA over the OTHER, steps CAUTIOUSLY from the BOY's LAVATORY. He looks to the RIGHT—

 

LONG SHOT, IVAN's P.O.V.: An EMPTY ELEMENTARY-SCHOOL HALLWAY. INSTITUTIONAL YELLOW WALLS, ROWS of NARROW WALL-INSET STEEL LOCKERS—

 

IVAN exhales in RELIEF. He TURNS to his LEFT—

 

— and WALKS RIGHT into a STOCKY, SHORT-HAIRED, MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN in a BLUE TURTLENECK, LUMPY BROWN CARDIGAN, and PRACTICAL SLACKS.

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, his EYES GOING WIDE as he LOOKS UP—] — M— muh— miss Kalinzewenski—! I— I— amm—

 

MISS KALINZEWENSKI looks DOWN at IVAN. Through the WIRE-RIM GLASSES she WEARS, her ODD HAZEL EYES are STERN— but NOT without PITY.

 

MISS KALINZEWENSKI: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as she LAYS a FIRM— yet GENTLE— HAND on IVAN's SHOULDER and MARCHES HIM OFF to the PRINCIPAL's OFFICE] Sorry, kid. You an' the bird gotta tell it to the judge….

 

[FADE]

 

OPEN ON:

 

The KITCHEN of the KUNNING FAMILY HOUSE. It is an HOUR or SO before the FAITH-HEALIN' RALLY. IVAN sits at the KITCHEN TABLE, doing HOMEWORK. HAWK sits on HIS PERCH NEARBY. GRETA is NOWHERE to BE SEEN— but, from DEEP in the HOUSE, we can HEAR OMINOUS CRASHES, RUMBLINGS, and the SOUND of BREAKING GLASS. NANA is ONCE AGAIN on the PHONE—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, on the OLIVE-GREEN HISTORICALLY ACCURATE FLAT PHONE HANDSET] — not only THAT, he was late for school. AGAIN. [ PAUSING— and NODDING SAGELY] Isn't that the truth, Nance…? If only we lived in a state with cancer hospitals that specialized in care for children, and that offered free treatment or payment adjustments for low-income families! Or a state with a universally known, world-class medical research facility! [ A RESIGNED and KNOWING LAUGH] Guess we Minnesotan's'll just have to settle for the occasional faith-healin' rally and leave the rest to God, you betcha…! See ya tonight, Nance!

 

NANA listens to NANCY's FAREWELL, then hangs the HANDSET back in its WALL CRADLE.

 

IVAN, who has been LISTENING, stops doing his HOMEWORK. He sets down his "PENCIL" [Scriptwriter's note: _The "pencil" is an ancient wooden writing tool that predated the iPad._ ]—

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, HESITANTLY] But, Ma—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, an INSTANTANEOUS VERBAL POUNCE] "But, Ma—" — _what?_

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, trying not to STAMMER in the WITHERING LIGHT of HIS MOM's TERRIFYING BLUE EYES] Miss Kalinzewenski says that we— amm— that there's the Shriner Hospitals, an' the U of M Hospitals, an' the Mayo Clinic, an' that they all do cancer an' other stuff for—amm—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, with IMPERIAL SELF-RIGHTEOUSNESS, as GRETA appears as if OUT OF NOWHERE and NESTLES against HER SIDE] How _could_ you, Ivan…? Miss _Kalinzewenski?_ She's _POLISH_.

 

IVAN FLINCHES. Covered in what looks like DUST, WET PAINT, and SOOT, GRETA leaves NANA's SIDE and SAUNTERS ACROSS the KITCHEN. DROPPING a HUGE, GREASY PIPE WRENCH on the FLOOR in her WAKE, she YANKS OPEN the REFRIGERATOR DOOR and TAKES OUT a JUICY-JUICE JUICE BOX—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, practically COOING as she WATCHES GRETA] — and what have _you_ been up to, busy bee…?

 

SMILING INDULGENTLY, NANA gets a HANDFUL of PAPER TOWELS from a ROLL hanging under the KITCHEN CABINETS, WETS them at the KITCHEN TAP, and KNEELS to SCRUB GRETA's FACE. SLURPING from the PLASTIC STRAW STUCK in the JUICE BOX, GRETA looks at IVAN—

 

— and SMIRKS. CRINGING, IVAN returns to his HOMEWORK.

 

From his PERCH by the KITCHEN TABLE, HAWK looks BALEFULLY at GRETA and NANA. GRETA looks at HAWK— and STOPS SLURPING long enough to STICK OUT HER JUICE-STAINED TONGUE at HIM.

 

[FADE]

 

TIME PASSES—

 

SEVERAL HOURS LATER: A CLEAR and HIDEOUSLY COLD WINTER NIGHT has fallen on APPALD. At the EDGE of TOWN, at a BUILDING known as the VFW RED BARN, TOWNSPEOPLE are gathering for the FAITH-HEALIN' RALLY to be conducted by RENOWNED HEALER JIM "PAUL" NEWMAN. WHITE CLOUDS of EXHAUST BILLOW in the DARK AIR as the RED BARN PARKING LOT, a SEA of FROZEN, RUTTED MUD, fills with RUSTED-OUT PICKUPS, many with TROPHY-SIZED MUSKIES still STRAPPED to their HOODS. The CITIZENS of APPALD, clad WARMLY and SENSIBLY in BULKY, NINETEEN-NINETIES-AUTHENTIC WINTER OUTERWEAR, greet one another HEARTILY as they file into the RED BARN.

 

The KUNNING FAMILY PICKUP, NANA at the WHEEL, pulls into the PARKING LOT. IVAN, SCRUNCHED with HAWK into the CRAMPED BACK SEAT of the PICKUP's EXTENDED CAB, looks out UNCERTAINLY through the TRUCK's FROSTED SIDE WINDOW at the CROWD entering the RED BARN.

 

NANA parks the PICKUP between TWO OTHER PRACTICALLY IDENTICAL PICKUPS and SHUTS OFF the ENGINE.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as she GETS OUT and GENTLY LIFTS GRETA from the PASSENGER SIDE of the TRUCK] C'mon, mama's bestest angel-girl. [Then, to IVAN, as he STRUGGLES to PRY HIMSELF and HAWK from the CRAMPED BACK SEAT:] Ivan, don't _dawdle_ —!

 

TRACKING SHOT of IVAN and HAWK [ _— with plenty of lurchy steadicam, if we could. It's artistic. Thanks._ — The Scriptwriter] as we ENTER the APPALD VFW RED BARN. A GOOD MINNESOTA CROWD is gathering INSIDE. HALE, HEARTY MEN and WOMEN in BLUE JEANS, MUD- or SNOW-CAKED WORK BOOTS, COPIOUS AMOUNTS of FACIAL HAIR (mostly the MEN, but STILL), CHECKED FLANNEL, and SWEATSHIRTS APPLIQUED with PICTURES of KITTENS, WOLVES, or RED CARDINALS or with PHRASES like "JOHN DEERE," are DISCUSSING PRESSING ISSUES of the AREA, like HUNTING, FISHING, DAIRY FARMING, and the latest HOTDISH RECIPES. We hear BURSTS of LAUGHTER and SNIPPETS of AUTHENTIC MINNESOTA DIALECT, like "YA, YA, YOU BETCHA, DOHWAN'CHA'KNOW." There's a LINE at the PULL-TAB WINDOW and a COZY PRESS at the BAR. PEOPLE drink from OPEN BOTTLES of HAMMS and SCHLITZ BEER. KIDS of VARYING SIZES and AGES, many wearing HOCKEY JERSEYS bearing either the LOGOS of LOCAL SCHOOL TEAMS or the MINNESOTA NORTH STARS, and MOST (the GIRLS as well as the BOYS) with their HAIR CUT in MULLETS, stand in HYPER GIGGLING GROUPS or PLAY TAG in the CROWD.

 

IVAN IGNORES THEM. AS NANA waves to SOMEONE SHE KNOWS— likely NANCY— and WADES into the CROWD with GRETA in TOW, IVAN and HAWK are LEFT ALONE. IVAN, HAWK perched on his ARM, QUIETLY approaches the WOODEN STAGE at the REAR of the HALL, where, next to an IMPROMPTU COAT CHECK— that is to say, a HUGE PILE of ARCTIC-GRADE OUTERWEAR— TONIGHT's FAITH HEALERS have set up a SORT OF DISPLAY.

 

WE SEE, looking out from THE STAGE: IVAN and HAWK, APPROACHING.

 

CLOSEUP: IVAN, focusing— somewhat SKEPTICALLY— on the OBJECT ahead of HIM—

 

IVAN's P.O.V.: The "FAITH-HEALING SCULPTURE"— which looks SUSPICIOUSLY like a RESIN MODEL of a COMMON LOON glued to a PIECE of DRIFTWOOD surrounded by TWO LAVA LAMPS.

 

Now OPENLY FROWNING, IVAN reaches TENTATIVELY for the LOON—

 

— and JUMPS in SURPRISE— the CAMERA ANGLE now ABOVE HIM and BEHIND— as a MAN's HAND CLAMPS ITSELF on his LEFT SHOULDER!

 

IVAN turns. On his RIGHT ARM, HAWK turns. We look UP and SEE, from IVAN's P.O.V.:

 

The RUGGEDLY HANDSOME, FORTY-SOMETHING FACE of RENOWNED HEALER JIM "PAUL" NEWMAN. HIS PEPPER-and-SALT HAIR trimmed STYLISHLY close to his SKULL, his WARM BROWN eyes TWINKLING with the KIND of INTELLIGENCE that could SELL a FORD to a DYED-IN-THE-WOOL CHEVY DRIVER (and VICE-VERSA), DIMPLES winking CONFIDENTLY from either side of his MILLION-WATT SMILE. [Screenwriter's note: _If we can get George Clooney for this, all will be well with the world. If not, we are screwed. Trust me._ ]

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, his EYES as STEELY as HIS SMILE is WARM—] "The Spirit of Minnesota." Pretty cool, isn't it, kid—?

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] I— amm—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, WALKING UP with GRETA in TOW] — _there_ you are. Ivan, can't I take you _anywhere_ —? [To NEWMAN, her ANGRY FOCUS still on IVAN—] Just tell me what he or that filthy bird wrecked, and I'll—

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, his OWN FOCUS now on NANA— and his CHARM LEVEL ADJUSTING ACCORDINGLY—] No. No harm done— Really— [As NANA turns, half in PROTEST— and then MELTS, looking UP at HIM—] I'm Newman.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, FLUSTERED—] I'm Nana. Kunning. Nana Kunning.

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, a TOSS-OFF NOD toward IVAN as HIS ATTENTION remains LOCKED on NANA] Must take after his older sister in the looks department.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, now OPENLY BLUSHING—] But I'm not— He— he— doesn't have— I'm his mom.

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] You don't say….

 

[MOVEMENT from AHEAD and SLIGHTLY ABOVE— NEWMAN looks UP: FROM the SIDE of the STAGE, a NONDESCRIPT YOUNG MAN in JEANS and a CHECKED FLANNEL SHIRT is GIVING HIM a THUMB'S-UP GESTURE—]

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, APOLOGETICALLY, to NANA] Looks like I'm on. [He TAKES NANA's HAND and GAZES— for JUST a MOMENT— SOULFULLY into HER EYES.] Stay— and be _healed_.

 

NEWMAN RELEASES NANA's HAND and CLIMBS the WOODEN STAIRS to the STAGE. As the CROWD ALL AROUND BREAKS into APPLAUSE, IVAN looks from NANA to NEWMAN— and BACK AGAIN— in FROWNING DISBELIEF.

 

FADE. QUICK OPEN ON—

 

The FAITH-HEALIN' RALLY gets UNDERWAY. A MONTAGE of JIM "PAUL" NEWMAN, UP on the MAKESHIFT STAGE, GAZING EARNESTLY into the EYES of THOSE (MOSTLY WOMEN) who would be HEALED. SELLING, with the HELP of SEVERAL EARNEST and CLEAN-CUT YOUNG MEN, BOTTLES of "MYSTICAL REMEDY" for the LOW, LOW PRICE of ONE for TWENTY-FIVE, THREE for FIFTY—

 

IVAN, with HAWK PERCHED on HIS FOREARM, watches UNEASILY from the CROWD with NANA, who is STARING in FRANK ADORATION at the STAGE. GRETA is NOWHERE to BE SEEN—

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, LOOKING AROUND] Ma, where's Gre—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, JOLTED from HER REVERIE] Ivan, **shush**.

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as MORE MONEY and BOTTLES change HANDS] But what is that—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Ivan, how could you—? That man is a _healer_ …!

 

IVAN GOES SILENT and FOCUSES on SCANNING the CROWD for GRETA. Just as HE'S ABOUT to LEAVE HIS PLACE BESIDE NANA and SEARCH for HIS SISTER in EARNEST, GRETA comes SLIPPING THROUGH the CROWD—

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Look, Ivan, I'm a spy. I'm a secret agent. I'm a wind tunnel. I'm a turbine. I'm a _pickpocket_ —

 

At the LAST WORD, IVAN— who HAS BEGUN to PHASE OUT HIS SISTER's USUAL INANE BABBLING— STARTS to ATTENTION: GRETA is HOLDING SOMETHING SQUARE and LEATHERY in HER RIGHT HAND—

 

TIME seems to SLOW. IVAN's EYES GO WIDE as HE STARES at the SQUARE and LEATHERY SOMETHING, as—

 

RIGHT NEARBY, a HUGE, BEAR-LIKE MAN in HIS MASSIVELY MUSCULAR THIRTIES NUDGES HIS RELATIVELY EQUALLY HUGE GAL and NODS TOWARD the BOTTLES of "MYSTICAL REMEDY" LINING the STAGE—

 

HUGE, BEAR-LIKE MAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Think I'd like t' get me a bottle of that—

 

He REACHES for the BACK RIGHT-HAND POCKET of HIS JEANS—

 

HUGE, BEAR-LIKE MAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, SCOWLING as HE PATS HIS EMPTY BACK POCKET] What the heck—

 

— and IVAN sees the SOMETHING in GRETA's HAND for WHAT IT IS:

 

**A MAN's WALLET.**

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as the HUGE, BEAR-LIKE MAN LOOKS ANGRILY AROUND—] — oh fook, oh fook, oh fook—

 

The HUGE, BEAR-LIKE MAN— and HIS GAL— turn IVAN's— and GRETA's— WAY—

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, REACHING for GRETA— and the WALLET— in AGONIZED SLOW MOTION—] — fook fook fook fook fook—

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, a SLO-MO SING-SONG] Mom, Ivan's saying "foooook foooook foooook foooook _foooook_ "—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, her ANGER like SLO-MO LAVA as SHE GRABS IVAN BY the COLLAR of HIS JACKET and JERKS HIM BACK— JUST BEFORE HIS FINGERS TOUCH the WALLET!—] Ivaaan, how _cooooould_ you—?

 

HUGE, BEAR-LIKE MAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, like an ONCOMING SNOWPLOW of SLO-MO FURY] That's my _waaaaaaal_ —

 

THEN— SUDDENLY!— In a MORONIC ACT of FATALISTIC COURAGE— or JUST PLAIN SUICIDAL DESPERATION— HAWK HOPS from IVAN's ARM and PLUCKS the WALLET from GRETA's HAND!

 

And— in REAL-TIME— the ROOM goes STILL.

 

CLOSEUP: IVAN, not DARING— or UNABLE— to MOVE. On the SOUNDTRACK, we HEAR the POUNDING of his HEARTBEAT—

 

Then, WE WATCH as—

 

An OPEN CIRCLE of APPALD TOWNSFOLK WIDENS around HAWK, who STANDS BRAVELY on the FLOOR of the VFW RED BARN with the WALLET at HIS FEET.

 

RANDOM MID SHOTS and CLOSEUPS of APPALD TOWNSFOLK PEERING AT or CRANING their NECKS to SEE HAWK. A SUSPICIOUS— then INCREASINGLY ANGRY— MURMURING from the CROWD—

 

RANDOM APPALD GAL: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, OUTRAGED] Look! That thing stole Jeff's wallet—!

 

JEFF, the ORIGINAL BEAR-LIKE MAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, still INDIGNANTLY PATTING HIS EMPTY POCKETS] That bird done stole my wallet—!

 

RANDOM APPALD GUY: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, SUSPICIOUSLY] Is that one a' them red-tailed hawks—? I _hate_ them things!

 

HAWK looks DESPERATELY to—

 

IVAN, who SHAKES HIMSELF out of STUNNED and FEARFUL IMMOBILITY—

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] No! Fook, no! That's a— a—

 

CLOSEUP on HAWK, who looks almost PLEADINGLY at HIM—

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] — an auburn-bottomed cockatiel! Yeah! Got 'im all the way from— from Australia—

 

A CONFUSED MURMURING from the CROWD—

 

ANOTHER RANDOM APPALD GUY: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Where the hell's Austernalia…?

 

ANOTHER-ANOTHER RANDOM APPALD GUY: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Think it's just north a' Albert Lea, Fred.

 

FRED: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Izzat so, Grant…?

 

GRANT: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Yep, Fred, I do believe so.

 

MORE MURMURING from the CROWD. A TINY BIT of TENSION EASES from the ROOM. IVAN EXHALES the BREATH he's been HOLDING. He LOOKS to HAWK. Their EYES MEET in RELIEF. And THEN—

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, SHOUTING OUT in a SING-SONG VOICE] Silly Ivan! Of course Hawk is a RED-TAILED HAWK!

 

The ANGER LEVEL of the CROWD SPIKES! The MURMURING recommences— only THIS TIME like the BUZZING of FURIOUS BEAR-SIZED BEES—

 

RANDOM APPALD GUY: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] A red-tailed hawk done snatched mah prize calf—!

 

RANDOM APPALD GAL: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Mah shar-pei—!

 

ANOTHER RANDOM APPALD GUY: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Mah chickens—!

 

ANOTHER RANDOM APPALD GAL: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Mah ten-year-old cousin!

 

UNEASILY, HAWK attempts to put some DISTANCE between HIMSELF and the CROWD: as the TOWNSFOLK of APPALD slowly ADVANCE, he BACKS toward the STAGE. FINALLY, he's FORCED to take a FLAPPING HOP UP and BACK—

 

Which LANDS HIM on the FAITH-HEALIN' SCULPTURE, the "SPIRIT OF MINNESOTA"!

 

The CROWD FREEZES. A COLLECTIVE IN-TAKE of BREATH. On the STAGE, JIM "PAUL" NEWMAN eases AWAY from the SCULPTURE— and from HAWK—

 

— whose TAIL— as the ROOM GOES ABSOLUTELY SILENT— BRUSHES the LOON FIGURE on the DRIFTWOOD BASE. A GROUP GASP as—

 

The LOON FIGURE BREAKS FREE of the BASE and FALLS to the STAGE with a FLAT and RESIN-Y "CLUNK"!

 

RANDOM APPALD GUY: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] The _spirit_ —! He— he— buh— _broke_ it—

 

RANDOM APPALD MURMURINGS: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] He broke it! It broke! It done broke! That darn cockatiel! Mah Great Dane!, etc.

 

JIM "PAUL" NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, to HIMSELF, as the MURMURING BUILDS in ANGER and INTENSITY—] Whoa, whoa, whoa— Oh, hell—

 

FIRST RANDOM APPALD GAL: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, her VOICE an AGONIZED HOWL—] _**TIIIGERRR—!!!**_

 

And SO, we WATCH as—

 

The ROOM ERUPTS in GUNFIRE—!

 

And— THUS— as IVAN LOOKS on in HORROR—

 

HAWK **EXPLODES** — like a PINATA or a PILLOWFIGHT by WAY of SAM RAIMI— into a CLOUD of BLOODY FEATHERS!!!

 

And THEN— THAT SUDDENLY— a STUNNED CALM DESCENDS over the CROWD. CALM— and CLOUDS of GUNSMOKE— and a GENTLE DRIFTING-DOWN of HAWK FEATHERS.

 

RANDOM APPALD GUY: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Holy heck, don'cha'know.

 

RANDOM APPALD GAL: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Oh, da heck already.

 

As IVAN stands SHAKING and in SHOCK at HAWK GROUND ZERO, the TOWNSFOLK of APPALD QUIETLY PUT AWAY their BLISTERING ASSORTMENT of SECOND-AMENDMENT, GUARANTEED-BY-GOD, ALL-AMUR'CAIN FIREARMS and LEAVE the VFW RED BARN. JEFF, the ORIGINAL BEAR-LIKE GUY, STEPS ALMOST HUMBLY FORWARD and PICKS UP his WALLET, which still LIES on the FLOOR. A HUSH as PEOPLE CASH OUT PULL-TABS, drop EMPTY BEER BOTTLES in the RECYCLING BINS, dig their NASA-GRADE PARKAS out of the HEAP of OUTERWEAR on the STAGE, and FILE BACK OUT into the PREPOSTEROUSLY ICY NIGHT.

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, STARING at the SPOT where HAWK LAST STOOD] F—f—fook— [ A WHISPER, as HIS (ADMITTEDLY) BIZARRE BLUE EYES FILL with TEARS] — _Hawk_.

 

[FADE]

 

FORWARD TO—

 

The WINTER-NIGHT DRIVE HOME from the FAITH-HEALIN' RALLY at the VFW RED BARN. The KUNNING FAMILY's RED RUSTED-OUT F-150 barrels through a BARREN WASTELAND of FARM FIELDS down a STRAIGHT, SNOW-DRIFTED BLACKTOP ROAD—

 

CUT TO—

 

The DARK INTERIOR of the KUNNING FAMILY PICKUP—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, angrily DRIVING] — I mean, how were people supposed to get autographs from their favorite hockey players if that evil bird was eating their Sharpies…?

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, CONFUSION momentarily SHORT-CIRCUITING HIS GRIEF] What—?

 

From the CRAMPED SEAT of the EXTENDED CAB, IVAN almost has to SHOUT to be HEARD: "THE WIND BENEATH MY WINGS," by BETTE MIDLER, is PLAYING on the TRUCK's AM RADIO. In the FRONT PASSENGER SEAT, GRETA is HAPPILY and OBLIVIOUSLY HUMMING ALONG.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] _Sharpies_. If you had _normal_ hobbies like a _normal_ boy, Ivan, you would know that.

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, HIS FREAKISH BLUE EYES FILLING with TEARS as HE CLUTCHES CLUMPS of BLOODY FEATHERS] Shar- _pei_ , Ma.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, all BUSINESS as she KEEPS her own FREAKISH BLUE EYES on the SNOW-CHOKED ROAD] _What_ …?

 

YOUNG IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, struggling to KEEP HIS VOICE STEADY] Shar- _pei_ , Ma. Not "Sharpie."

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, with RENEWED INDIGNATION] Well, that's even _worse_ , then, isn't it, If that evil bird was eating people's poor little _dogs_? [Her EYES meet IVAN's in the REAR-VIEW MIRROR] Ivan, how _could_ you—?

 

[FADE]

 

LATER THAT NIGHT:

 

IVAN sits at the RUSTIC KITCHEN TABLE of the KUNNING FAMILY HOME, finishing his HOMEWORK. A TEAR runs DOWN his CHEEK and SPLATTERS onto a PAGE of MATH EQUATIONS. DESPONDENTLY, IVAN wipes the TEAR off the PAPER, leaving WET PENCILLY SMEARS.

 

OPPOSITE HIM at the TABLE, GRETA SITS, drawing a GORY PICTURE in CRAYON on a BIG PIECE of DRAWING PAPER. A VIOLENT, HUGE BLOP of RED.

 

FROM the LIVING ROOM, next to the KITCHEN, we HEAR the SOUNDTRACK of a RUSTIC WILDERNESS FILM BLARING from the TELEVISION.

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, to NANA, who's at the TABLE DRINKING SOMETHING HOT and STEAMING from a STONEWARE MUG and READING a TRADE PAPERBACK—] Momma momma momma momma momma—! [GESTURING to HER "DRAWING" as NANA looks INDULGENTLY OVER—] — That's HAWK, Momma! He went "SPLAAP!"

 

As NANA LEANS CLOSER to GET a BETTER LOOK at GRETA's PICTURE, WE CLOSE IN on the BOOK SHE'S READING: a LIBRARY COPY of _**FINDING THE HEALER WITHIN,**_ by JIM "PAUL" NEWMAN.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, SMILING PROUDLY at GRETA's WORK] He sure did, honey!

 

Still SMILING, after a SIP from her MUG, NANA goes BACK to her READING—

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, reaching for ANOTHER RED CRAYON] Momma, do birds go to heaven or to hell?

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, PATIENTLY, her EYES on HER READING] Hell, angel.

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Do they fly down or do they drop?

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] They drop, honey. Especially with their wings all shot off. [She LOOKS UP from HER READING and NUDGES GRETA CONSPIRATORIALLY.] Maybe Ivan's bird can say hello to Ivan's worthless daddy…!

 

At THAT, NANA and GRETA SHARE a GIGGLE.

 

A WHIMPER from IVAN.

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, looking CONTEMPTUOUSLY at IVAN, HUNCHED and CRINGING over his HOMEWORK] Momma, Ivan's being a cry-baby _sissy_!

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as she GLANCES in PASSING at IVAN and GOES BACK to her READING] Nothing new _there_ , angel!

 

IVAN FLINCHES but SAYS NOTHING. We HEAR the SOUND of FURIOUS BARKING— and ANIMALS SNARLING— from the MOVIE PLAYING in the LIVING ROOM—

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, QUIETLY] M—m—ma…?

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, her EYES on HER BOOK] _WHAT_ , Ivan…?

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] C—c—could we maybe not watch _Old Yeller_ t'night…?

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, with a PROTECTIVE GLANCE at GRETA, who is OBLIVIOUSLY— and ENERGETICALLY— ADDING a STORM of BLACK BLOPS— possibly a HAIL of BULLETS— to her "PICTURE" of HAWK] How _could_ you, Ivan? You know it's Greta's turn to pick a movie!

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Right. Sorry, Ma. [He GOES BACK to HIS HOMEWORK. A TEARY WHISPER as HE TRIES to FOCUS ON— without SOAKING— HIS MATH—] H—h—h— _hawk_ …

 

A KNOCK at the BACK— or KITCHEN— DOOR of the KUNNING HOUSE. NANA looks UP. GRETA looks UP. SNIFFLING, IVAN keeps DOING HIS HOMEWORK.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, reaching over to SWAT IVAN with HER BOOK] Ivan! Stop whining and see who that is!

 

HEAD DOWN, IVAN eases MECHANICALLY out of HIS CHAIR and GOES to OPEN the DOOR, revealing—

 

JIM "PAUL" NEWMAN. HANDSOME, SMILING, wearing a STYLISH BLUE NORTH FACE PARKA and CARRYING a HUGE BUCKET of KENTUCKY FRIED CHICKEN.

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, to IVAN] Hey, kid. Is your ma home?

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, a SURPRISED and DELIGHTED COO as SHE GETS UP and COMES to the DOOR] Oh, my— Mr. _Newman_.

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, AMPING the CHARM in HIS SMILE by a HUNDRED THOUSAND WATTS or SO] Mrs. _Kunning_.

 

NANA draws NEWMAN inside— essentially KNOCKING IVAN out of the WAY in the PROCESS— and CLOSES the DOOR—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, with a COQUETTISH NOD at the BUCKET of CHICKEN in NEWMAN's ARMS] You didn't have to— You had to go all the way to Hibbing for that…!

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, FOCUSING on NANA as HE HANDS the BUCKET off to a STUNNED and SILENT IVAN] It was the least I could do. I hated the idea of you being… upset by what happened tonight—

 

MID SHOT: IVAN, IGNORED, STARES HOLLOWLY at the BUCKET of CHICKEN.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as she TAKES NEWMAN's COAT] That's so sweet….

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] Just to put your mind at ease, Mrs. Kunning—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, GAZING at NEWMAN with HER BIZARRE BLUE EYES] — Nana. Call me Nana. Please—

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, a bit of "AWW, SHUCKS" in his TONE] — Nana. [INSERT CLOSE UP: NANA BLUSHES COYLY] Just so you know, Nana: there wasn't really a tiger. That was the name of Mrs. Gutmanjannssen's shar-pei.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, NODDING REVERENTLY up at NEWMAN] The one that got eaten by my son's filthy, murdering bird.

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, SOBERLY, his EYES LOCKED on NANA's] That'd be the one, yep.

 

A GUNSHOT from the SOUNDTRACK of the FILM PLAYING in the LIVING ROOM. GRETA SQUEALS in DELIGHT and RUNS to the LIVING ROOM DOORWAY—

 

GRETA: [In FLASHBACK, watching the MOVIE from the DOORWAY] That's my favorite part! He hadda shoot the dog! He shot the dog! He shot the dog, and he's _crying_ , Momma!

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, a BROAD SMILE on HIS FACE as HE JOINS GRETA] Is that _Old Yeller_ I hear in there…? That's gotta be my favorite movie of all time!

 

In the KITCHEN, IVAN stands HOLDING the KFC BUCKET. His SHOULDERS begin to SHAKE. His FACE CONTORTS in a SILENT SOB.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, looking BACK at IVAN from the LIVING ROOM DOORWAY, where she's gone to join GRETA and NEWMAN] Don't just stand there, Ivan! Get some plates and silverware!

 

[FADE]

 

OPEN ON:

 

A COZY LATE KFC DINNER at the RUSTIC TABLE in the KITCHEN of the KUNNING HOUSE. The OPEN BUCKET of CHICKEN, FRONT and CENTER on the TABLETOP, surrounded by a RUINED WILDERNESS of BISCUIT BOXES, TUBS of COLE SLAW and MASHED POTATOES, CONDIMENT BOTTLES, and OPEN and/or EMPTY CANS of COCA-COLA. NANA and NEWMAN sit at ONE CORNER of the TABLE, wiping their GREASY FINGERS with a HOLIDAY ASSORTMENT of PAPER NAPKINS and PRETTY MUCH OPENLY FLIRTING with ONE ANOTHER. IVAN sits SILENTLY OFF to ONE SIDE, a PICTORIALLY UNTOUCHED PLATE of FOOD in FRONT of HIM, watching as, on the OTHER SIDE of the TABLE, GRETA CRASHES a KETCHUP-SMEARED CHICKEN WING into a POOL of MASHED POTATOES and GRAVY on her PLATE.

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, GRINDING the CHICKEN WING into the POTATOES] Look, Momma! That's HAWK!

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, SMILING OVER at GRETA] It sure is, babykins!

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, NODDING toward GRETA with AFFECTIONATE CONCERN] You brought her to the rally tonight, Nana. What—

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] The doctors— They don't know what it is— [As GRETA once more NOSEDIVES the CHICKEN WING into the GRAVY, with an ACCOMPANYING "eeeeeeOOOOOO!!!" CRASH-DIVE SOUND] I just like to think that she's… special.

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, SOBERLY] I understand.

 

A BEAT. Then, WE WATCH as—

 

NEWMAN wipes his FINGERS with a PAPER NAPKIN and— TENTATIVELY, UNDERSTANDINGLY— SQUEEZES NANA's HAND there on the TABLETOP. SURPRISED— but NOT (IN A MILLION YEARS) PULLING AWAY— NANA LOOKS at HIM. Their EYES MEET—

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, FLATLY (or NAUSEOUSLY), WATCHING from ACROSS the TABLE] May I be excused, Ma?

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, ABSENTLY, her EYES NEVER LEAVING NEWMAN's] What- _ever_ , Ivan.

 

IVAN gets UP. He takes HIS PLATE over to the SINK and LEAVES the KITCHEN. We TRACK HIM through the HOUSE to his ROOM, where—

 

IVAN empties out HIS SCHOOL BOOKBAG. His EXPRESSION STOIC, he begins to PACK: SOCKS, UNDERWEAR, T-SHIRTS. A POCKET KNIFE. A FLASHLIGHT. Six issues of _FALCONER TODAY_. A TOOTHBRUSH and TOOTHPASTE.

 

**IVAN-IVAN: Enough! my soul cried—**

 

LUGGING his BOOKBAG, IVAN passes through the LIVING ROOM, where GRETA is PARKED in FRONT of the TV with the VCR REMOTE, HAPPILY RE-PLAYING her "FAVORITE SCENE" from _OLD YELLER_.

 

**IVAN-IVAN: I could stand no more—!**

 

Now in his PARKA, SORELS, and GOPHER CAP, in the KITCHEN, IVAN completes his PREPARATIONS. NEWMAN and NANA are CLEARING AWAY the REMAINDER of the DINNER CARNAGE—

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, to a DREAMY-EYED NANA] — Paul— Call me "Paul."

 

IVAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, EASING past NEWMAN to take a BOX of CHEEZ-ITS from ONE of the KITCHEN CABINETS] Excuse me—

 

NEWMAN: [In FINAL FLASHBACK] No problem, kid. [To NANA, CONTINUING SUAVELY—] — Please.

 

NANA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, GAZING at NEWMAN as IVAN SQUEEZES PAST HER to GET to the REFRIGERATOR] Paul… Newman.

 

**IVAN-IVAN: I would leave— knowing that I would never be missed—!**

 

IVAN finishes PACKING HIS BOOKBAG. SLIM JIMS. DORITOS. A FOUR-PACK of HUNT'S CHOCOLATE SNACK PACK PUDDING. THREE CANS of COKE. With a FINAL LOOK at HAWK's EMPTY PERCH-- and at NANA BILLING and COOING with NEWMAN in the KITCHEN— IVAN LEAVES the KUNNING HOUSE— and VENTURES OUT into the BLACKNESS of a STUPIDLY COLD MINNESOTA WINTER NIGHT. With a BOOKBAG FULL of JUNK FOOD. In the NINETEEN-NINETIES, NO LESS.

 

**IVAN-IVAN: In my young mind, I hoped— I hardly dare call it "thought"— that perhaps I might— with luck— make my way to the house of Miss Kalinzewenski, who lived on the far side of Lake Wannamannee— and that she might— just might— help me find my way south, to the mythical _Twin Cities_ ….**

 

CUE: MONTAGE. IVAN RUNS AWAY: Through SPARSE PINE FOREST. Across a SNOWY MOONLIT FIELD. Past DIRK's HALF-WAY CAFE, a BAR out on the COUNTY ROAD, where it's TACO NIGHT.

 

AND— FINALLY— to the SHORE of ROUND, PRETTY-AVERAGE-ALL-THINGS-CONSIDERED LAKE WANNAMANNEE.

 

IVAN looks OUT at the LAKE—

 

IVAN's P.O.V.: We SEE an AVERAGE-SIZED EXPANSE of FROZEN LAKE in the DARK. On the FAR SHORE, we SEE TINY SQUARE DOTS of LIGHT from HOUSE and CABIN WINDOWS. NEARER, on the LAKE ITSELF, we see SCATTERED LIGHTS from the WINDOWS of FISH SHACKS. We HEAR, DISTANTLY, but CARRYING with SURPRISING CLARITY across the ICE, SNIPPETS of AUTHENTIC MINNESOTA DIALECT— "Oh, dat's a keeper, dohwan'cha'know, you betcha!", etc.— and BITS of BROADCAST from the STATE's LEGENDARY— and OH-SO-POWERFUL— RADIO STATION, WCCO.

 

IVAN, SHIFTING his BOOKBAG on HIS BACK, STEPS OUT onto the ICE. As he DOES, we HEAR, SUDDENLY, from the DARK WOODS BEHIND HIM—

 

GRETA's VOICE: [In FLASHBACK] — I'm a yeti, Ivan! I'm a _COM-SAT!_ I'm a hangin' posse! I'm a _bloodhound—!_

 

As IVAN LOOKS ON in HORROR, GRETA— wearing HER BOOTS and JACKET— EMERGES from the WOODS.

 

GRETA: [In FLASHBACK] I found you, Ivan. I found you, I found you, I found you, an' I'm gonna _tell_ —

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, BACKING AWAY onto the ICE of LAKE WANNAMANNEE]— Greta, NO. Go _HOME_ , Greta—

 

GRETA: [In FLASHBACK, FOLLOWING IVAN onto the ICE—] — an' Momma's gonna bust you one RIGHT IN THE HEAD—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, practically RUNNING NOW—] Greta, just _GO HOME_ —!

 

GRETA: [In FLASHBACK, RUNNING AFTER IVAN onto the LAKE—] No no no no no no no no no! Look, Ivan, I'm a penguin! I'm a fur seal! I'm a polar bear—!

 

In his PANIC, IVAN has STRAYED from the ROAD PLOWED onto the LAKE. Near SHORE, the ICE can be THIN in SPOTS and TREACHEROUS. We HEAR—

 

An OMINOUS CRACKING SOUND!

 

IVAN STOPS RUNNING—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, SHOUTING, NOW, to GRETA—] Greta, STOP—!

 

At the SUDDENLY DESPERATE TONE in IVAN's VOICE, GRETA— for ONCE— DOES as SHE'S TOLD.

 

BUT ONLY for a SECOND.

 

As IVAN LOOKS ABOUT in PANIC, WE HEAR—

 

MORE CRACKING SOUNDS! NOW ALL AROUND!

 

GRETA HESITATES— then GRINS like a NUT. To IVAN's HORROR, she STARTS JUMPING UP and DOWN on the ICE!

 

GRETA: [In FLASHBACK] Listen, Ivan! It's CRACKING!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, DROPPING HIS BOOKBAG—] Holy _fook_ , Greta—!

 

GRETA: [In FLASHBACK, still JUMPING] —you said "fook," Ivan! I'm gonna _tell_ …!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, RUNNING for HIS SISTER—] —No—!

 

AS IF FROM A GHOSTLY HAWK's P.O.V., from HIGH in a FIR on the SHORE of LAKE WANNAMANNEE, WE LOOK DOWN as GRETA— and IVAN— BREAK THROUGH the ICE!

 

At LAKE LEVEL: SPLASHING! PANIC! And— as EVER, for ALL ETERNITY— GRETA:

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, as IVAN tries DESPERATELY to REACH HER in the ICY WATER] Look, Ivan, I'm a muskie! I'm a bobber! [She BEGINS to SINK] I'm a snapping turtle! I'm a walrus! [As the DARK WATERS of LAKE WANNAMANNEE CLOSE OVER HER HEAD— and IVAN ONLY JUST MANAGES **NOT** to REACH HER—]

 

GRETA: [In FINAL FLASHBACK, an UNDERWATER SHOT as— from IVAN's P.O.V.— we WATCH HER SINK AWAY into the BLACKNESS] — I'm an _anchor_ —!

 

CLOSEUP: IVAN. A SILENT, UNDERWATER "FOOK— _NOOOOO—!!!_ "

 

[FADE… to **BLACK!** ]

 

OPEN ON:

 

A BRILLIANTLY SUNNY WINTER AFTERNOON in the HERE and NOW— or at LEAST ONE FLASHBACK UP. SEATED in an ALUMACRAFT TWELVE-FOOTER FLOATING in the OPEN WATER near the SHORE of OTHERWISE FROZEN LAKE LESSERPIG, CYRIL and a COUPLE of GUYS from the REPAIR SHOP WATCH as BOB HAULS in SOMETHING BIG with a ROD and REEL—

 

CYRIL: [In FLASHBACK, WATCHING BOB's ROD BEND ALMOST DOUBLE—] You got 'im, Bob. You got 'im. Don't horse 'im now—

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, GRITTING HIS TEETH as HE CRANKS the REEL] You wanna stick to doin' rip-off brake jobs an' let _me_ do the fishin', Cyril…?

 

CYRIL: [In FLASHBACK, without OFFENSE] Okie-doke, Bob. [LOOKING OUT over the SIDE of the BOAT] You got 'im. Here he comes—

 

P.O.V.: CYRIL and BOB and the OTHER GUYS in the BOAT: SNAGGED on the HOOK at the END of BOB's FISHING LINE, IVAN's PARKA— with IVAN INSIDE— BREAKS the SURFACE of MAN-THAT'S-GOTTA-BE-COLD LAKE LESSERPIG—

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, to IVAN's PARKA— and IVAN, TOO] We got ya, man. Come on, now—

 

BOB and CYRIL and the OTHER GUYS HAUL IVAN into the BOAT and STRETCH HIM OUT BETWEEN the SEATS. IVAN lies STILL and SOAKED and BEDRAGGLED, his EYES CLOSED—

 

ONE OF the GUYS from CYRIL'S SHOP: [In FLASHBACK, as HE and BOB and CYRIL LOOK DOWN at IVAN] Is he dead…?

 

An UNCERTAIN BEAT. And THEN—

 

IVAN COUGHS and OPENS HIS EYES. He looks up BLANKLY— UNKNOWINGLY— at BOB—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, HOARSELY] — Greta. _Fook_.—

 

LOOKING FRANKLY RELIEVED, BOB SMILES DOWN at IVAN. HE REASSURINGLY SQUEEZES his SHOULDER—

 

BOB [In FLASHBACK, to IVAN] You're gonna be fine, man. [Then, to CYRIL and the OTHER GUYS] Let's get 'im to shore before we got a Popsicle on our hands.

 

SLOW CLOSEUP on IVAN's FACE— and WEIRD BLUE EYES— as BOB and CYRIL and the OTHERS GET HIM BACK to SHORE. HALF UNCONSCIOUS, more than HALF FROZEN, IVAN GAZES up at the CLEAR BLUE SKY— and at FALCON, WHEELING OVERHEAD—

 

**IVAN: And thus it was that I learned that family— family is whoever— and wherever— you— you—**

 

We WATCH AS:

 

IVAN, HAULED by BOB and CYRIL and the GUYS from the SHOP onto and up the SNOWY SHORE of LETHAL but LOVELY LAKE LESSERPIG, SMILES up at the HEAVENS.

 

**IVAN: — you find it.**

 

PEACEFULLY, his EYES CLOSE.

 

[FADE]

 

*****

 

 

 

 

 

*****

 

**[INTERTITLE:] Loss...**

**... and Resolution  
**

 

*****

 

The NEXT MORNING—

 

WIDE and/or AERIAL SHOT: Over the picturesque GROUNDS of NANA's FAITH-HEALING and CHEESE FACTORY, SNOW is gently FALLING. Workers trudge from the CHEESE BARN to the GIFT SHOP, carrying FRESH BRICKS of CHEDDAR and SOFT YELLOWY-WHITE CANNONBALLS of EDAM.

 

INTERIOR: GIFT SHOP. Chief shopkeeper BETTY BOHNHAID, streaks of WELL-EARNED GRAY in her GINGER HAIR, her expression STUCK somewhere between "WRY" and "FATALISTIC," re-stocks the REFRIGERATED CHEESE CASE while supervising one or two UNDERLINGS in cleaning up the remainder of the CARNAGE that LLAMA and FALCON created a COUPLE of DAYS BACK.

 

EXTERIOR: ANIMAL BARN. In the PETTING CORRAL, BOB pours FRESH WATER from a BIG RED PLASTIC BUCKET into a TROUGH. We— and SEVERAL GOATS— and the GUY CARRYING the POORLY NAMED STEADICAM— FOLLOW HIM back INSIDE the BARN—

 

On a PALLET of HAY BALES in ONE CORNER of the BARN, near what LOOKS like it could be BOB's OFFICE SPACE, we SEE—

 

IVAN, under a PILE of BLANKETS, UNCONSCIOUS— and SURROUNDED, like BABY JESUS in the MANGER or SNOW WHITE in her CRYSTAL COFFIN, by FALCON and LLAMA and his other BARNYARD FRIENDS— RECOVERING from his ICY PLUNGE!

 

BOB puts down the EMPTY BUCKET and GOES to CHECK on his FLEECE-ENCRUSTED GUEST—

 

BOB [In FLASHBACK, to one SATANICALLY UGLY REDDISH-BROWN BILLY GOAT, who is daintily nibbling IVAN’s BEARD—]: That’s enough offa that side, Wicker Man. [He SHOOS the UGLY GOAT to the OTHER SIDE of IVAN’s PALLET.] Here ya go. Right there, pal.

 

WICKER MAN begins to NIBBLE the OTHER SIDE of IVAN’s FACE.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, CONVERSATIONALLY but MOSTLY to HIMSELF, as HE TUCKS a BLANKET— and we SEE that it's the WINNIPEG JETS BLANKET from YESTERDAY— now LOOKING DECIDEDLY NIBBLED— CLOSER up UNDER IVAN's CHIN—] — had a heck of a time gettin' out there with the boat, y'know. Tied on a big ol' sinker and an eight-oh hook and hauled ya in. And then— get this— the jerk from the DNR had the nuts t' ask t' see my fishing license—

 

IVAN STIRS. BOB stops TALKING. A SHARED BREATH HELD as FALCON— perched above IVAN's HEAD— and LLAMA lean in for a CLOSER LOOK—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, HOARSELY—] Greta— [He OPENS his EYES and LOOKS UP MUZZILY at HIS FRIENDS—]

 

BOB, LLAMA, and FALCON exhale in RELIEF.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK] Good thing that last flashback took so long. [Through roughly SIX INCHES of BLANKET, he SQUEEZES IVAN's SHOULDER.] You're doin' fine, buddy.

 

**IVAN: The words I so long had sought— the words with which I hoped to express the damage to my soul, the wounding to my heart— to reconcile the pain of the past with the eternal suffering of the present— _Those_ words—?**

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, TEARS filling HIS WACKILY AZURE EYES as HE GAZES up at FALCON and LLAMA and BOB, TOO] — _fook_ —

 

**IVAN: — became _one_ word: _friendship_.**

 

[FADE]

 

OPEN ON: A TIME of DEPARTING.

 

Outside the FARMHOUSE, in the GENTLY STILL-FALLING SNOW, a RECOVERED— and MORE EVENLY TRIMMED— IVAN takes his LEAVE of HIS FAMOUS (but SECRETIVE) FAITH-HEALER MOTHER, HIS ~~THEIR~~ ~~WHATEVER~~ FRENCH-CANADIAN JOURNALIST PARAMOUR, and BOB—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, to NANA, as GOOD-NATURED LOCAL GUY DREW BOHNHAID, whose WIFE, BETTY, RUNS the GIFT SHOP, LOADS IVAN's FEW THINGS into HIS WAITING RUSTED-OUT but RELIABLE BLACK F-150—] — Well, this is it, Ma. T'anks loads for— amm— th' — amm— cheese sandwich.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] Bob made you the cheese sandwich, Ivan.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] — Oh. Amm. For lettin' me sleep on th' porch, then, that first night—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] Bob's idea. I told him not to give you that Winnipeg Jets blanket— it's a real licensed team item— but he wouldn't listen—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Oh—

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] — and then those goats ate it, and I'm docking it out of his pay. Just so you know.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, a bit FROWNILY—] Amm. Fook. Okay—

 

A dramatic BEAT. We — and RESSMORE and BOB— WATCH AS—

 

NANA's EXPRESSION becomes _MYSTICAL_. FIXING IVAN with HER PRACTICALLY NUCLEAR BLUE EYES, NANA places HER HAND on HIS TRIMMED— but still PLENTY SCRUFFY— CHEEK.

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK] Surely you know, my son: The power to heal— your power to heal yourself— was in you all along.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] — Wh— what?

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, HER VOICE just ONE NOTCH above a HUSHED WHISPER—] The strength you discovered here… was the strength you carried within yourself.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] — th' actual fookin' hell?

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, with just a TAD less CERTAINTY—] "… every wrong attempt discarded is another step forward" …? [ _Screenwriter's note: This is from an actual fortune cookie. Tell Legal to be on the lookout for grief from the Shang Pin Baking Company_.]

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, in the tone of a MAN WHO— FINALLY— HAS HAD ENOUGH] The _fook_ — Ma, people _pay_ yeh t' tell 'em that crap—?

 

NANA: [In FLASHBACK, SHOCKED!] Ivan—!

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK: Maybe— but DESTINED to be, perhaps— a BIT TOO QUICK to PICK UP the BALL] — how _could_ you…?!?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK: Like a MAN in the MIDST of a REVELATION, looking from NANA to RESSMORE and BACK AGAIN] Yeah. I could. I fookin' well _could_.

 

As BOB and FALCON (who is PERCHED TEMPORARILY— and COMFORTABLY— on BOB's SHOULDER) LOOK ON— PROUD if MILDLY CONFUSED by IVAN's SYNTAX— IVAN leans in and KISSES NANA on the CHEEK.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, with TENDER DIGNITY] I love yeh, Ma. Take care, yeah…?

 

NANA, STUNNED into RESPECTFUL SILENCE, can only NOD. IVAN turns to RESSMORE—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, looking with SAD AFFECTION into RESSMORE's HEARTBREAKINGLY LOVELY BLUE EYES] It's been a fookin' trip, Jannia.

 

RESSMORE: [In FLASHBACK, as IVAN GENTLY PRESSES the "HELLO KITTY" KEYCHAIN into the PALM of her RIGHT HAND] Ivan— my love—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Don't worry, darlin'. I'll find me way.

 

As RESSMORE stands THERE, BEAUTIFULLY SPEECHLESS and TEARY-EYED, IVAN turns to BOB—

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, OFFERING IVAN his HAND as FALCON HOP-FLIES over to DREW BOHNHAID's WAITING PICKUP—] Hey, man.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, SHAKING BOB's HAND—] Heya.

 

A MOMENT of AWKWARD SILENCE—

 

Then BOB pulls IVAN into an AFFECTIONATE— but MANLY (very MANLY)— HUG.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] T'anks, man. T'anks.

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, as he RELEASES IVAN— and BOTH of them SIMULTANEOUSLY DISCOVER that they SEEM to have a MINOR IRRITANT— a BIT of STRAW, perhaps— in their RESPECTIVE RIGHT EYES—] Aw, get outta here, you nut.

 

And SO— to the SWELLING STRAINS of the HEART-BREAKINGLY BEAUTIFUL SOUNDTRACK and through a BRIEF SERIES of GORGEOUS WIDE CRANE and HELICOPTER SHOTS that WILL LIKELY TANK the REMAINDER of OUR BUDGET but WILL BE WORTH IT COME FESTIVAL SEASON [ _Trust me— The Screenwriter_ ]— IVAN and FALCON LEAVE—!

 

Due to some sort of CONTRIVED SPATIAL LIMITATION— the presence of DELICATE CHEESES or other COLD-SENSITVE CARGO— DREW BOHNHAID has room for ONLY ONE PASSENGER in the CAB of HIS TRUCK. A moment of GOOD-NATURED NEGOTIATION, and IVAN willingly GIVES UP the SPACE to HIS FEATHERED FRIEND. He CLIMBS UP into the BED of the F-150, while FALCON joins DREW in the CAB. And so— on a GRAY and DREAMILY SNOWY DAY in the BACK END of NOWHERE— OUR HEROES head for HOME….

 

But ALL is NOT WELL on the SNOW-COVERED GROUNDS of NANA's FAITH HEALING and CHEESE FACTORY!

 

As BOB TRUDGES back to the PETTING ZOO, we HEAR a COMMOTION from the DIRECTION of the LLAMA PEN. BOB FROWNS— and PICKS UP HIS PACE. He ROUNDS the CORNER of the ANIMAL BARN and SEES—

 

LLAMA, RUNNING TO and FRO in the LLAMA PEN, FRANTICALLY "MUH-WONK"-ing, as HE LOOKS— with his GORGEOUS LLAMA EYES— DESPERATELY toward the HIGHWAY—!

 

BOB: [In FLASHBACK, as HE OPENS WIDE the GATE of the LLAMA PEN and STEPS ASIDE—] — You gotta follow your heart, man.

 

A grateful LOOK from LLAMA. An _aww-ain't-nothin'_ SHRUG from BOB. Then LLAMA charges PAST HIM and GALLOPS AWAY DOWN the HIGHWAY—

 

CUT TO—

 

In the BACK of the PICKUP, IVAN watches HIS MOTHER's EMPIRE fade into the DISTANCE. But his REVERIE is interrupted by a SOUND— over the RUMBLE of DREW's TRUCK ENGINE— like that of DISTANT "MUH-WONK"-ing. IVAN sits up STRAIGHTER. STARING back down the HIGHWAY, he SEES—

 

LLAMA, at full LLAMA GALLOP, RUNNING AFTER the TRUCK!

 

LLAMA: [In FLASHBACK, in CLOSEUP— JOYOUSLY! DESPERATELY! As— over the DISTANCE— his EYES and IVAN's MEET—!] Muh- **WONK!!!**

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, SHOUTING as HE POUNDS at the WINDOW at the BACK of the CAB—] Mister Bohnhaid! Stop! Please stop—!

 

As DREW's RUSTED-OUT F-150 pulls onto the SHOULDER and BRAKES to a HALT, IVAN— SMILING— HOLDS out HIS HAND to the BLACK, LLAMA-SHAPED FIGURE approaching in the DISTANCE—

 

LLAMA: [In FLASHBACK, RUNNING NOW as though HIS HOOVES had WINGS—] Muh- _WONK—!!_

 

And SO— BREATHLESSLY RELIEVED— and to a SOUND TRULY ALIEN— that of IVAN's HAPPY LAUGHTER— LLAMA reaches the PICKUP! Think HELENA BONHAM-CARTER at the END of _A ROOM WITH A VIEW_ —! [ _Screenwriter's note: And if you haven't seen_ A Room with a View, _for God's sake stop reading this crap and go watch it. Immediately._ ]

 

[FADE]

 

OPEN ON—

 

The COLD— but reasonably COMFORTABLE— TRIP BACK on the FANTASTICALLY DANGEROUS ICE-ROAD of HEART-RENDINGLY PULCHRITUDINOUS LAKE WHATTAPIG.

 

LLAMA has SETTLED HIMSELF against the CAB of the PICKUP. IVAN sits back against HIM, as though LLAMA is a BIG HAIRY SOFA. Fairly WARM despite the ICY WIND, IVAN watches BEAUMFOCQUE-- and his DREAMS of LOVE-- recede into the SNOWY WHITE DISTANCE.

 

But ALL is NOT WELL in DREW BOHNHAID’s F-150. From INSIDE the CAB, FALCON, gazing OUT at LLAMA, PECKS in FRUSTRATION at the GLASS of the SLIDING BACK WINDOW—

 

BOHNHAID [In FLASHBACK, his voice MUFFLED through the GLASS]: No, you feathered dimwit, I am not openin’ that darn window! It’s too darn cold, don’cha’know!

 

FRUSTRATED, FALCON ceases his PECKING. Through the SMUDGY GLASS of the SLIDING WINDOW, we see him GLARE BALEFULLY at BOHNHAID.

 

BOHNHAID [In FLASHBACK]: That’s better. Now, you just settle yer feathered kiester back an’ enjoy the ri—

 

FALCON [In FLASHBACK, with the MIGHT of a GREAT-LAKES FOGHORN]: Puhhh **WHEEEEET.**

 

BOHNHAID [In FLASHBACK, CHOKING inside the CAB]: Oh, the heck. Oh, the heckity-heck-heck—

 

COUGHING, he REACHES BACK and OPENS the SLIDING GLASS WINDOW. FALCON gives him a LOOK of SMUG TRIUMPH, then turns his SHARP EYES to his FRIENDS sitting in the BED of the PICKUP.

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK, HAPPILY, to IVAN and LLAMA]: Puh _wheeeet_...!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, as he reaches AFFECTIONATELY to RUFFLE FALCON’s CHEST-FEATHERS] Aw, yeh feathered fook, yeh!

 

LLAMA [In FLASHBACK, JOYOUSLY]: Muh- **WONK!**

 

Our THREE HEROES, TOGETHER at LAST! An UNSTOPPABLE TEAM!

 

**IVAN: It was then I realized that I was looking not into the past but into the future. A bright, shining future full of opportunity... and hope!**

 

With TEARS of JOY filling his EYES, IVAN settles again agains his MAKESHIFT NOT-EXACTLY-A-RUMINANT SOFA. LLAMA makes contented “MONK-MONK” SOUNDS as FALCON affectionately PREENS his SNOUT through the OPEN BACK WINDOW of the PICKUP.

 

[FADE]

 

OPEN ON—

 

WIDESHOT: Later that afternoon, DREW BOHNHAID'S PICKUP rolls up the LONG, SNOWY DRIVEWAY leading to the RUSTIC KUNNING FAMILY CABIN and STOPS right outside the BACK DOOR—

 

**IVAN: But so we learn that Hope is sometimes nothing more than… the most deceptive handmaiden of Fate—**

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, a bit FROZEN THROUGH but ENTHUSIASTIC as he CLIMBS OUT of the TRUCK BED and RUNS to the CABIN DOOR—] Alice! Ivan Junior! I've come home, yeah? I've fookin' come _back_ —!

 

We WATCH as—

 

IVAN, wrasslin' his CHILLED CHEEK MUSCLES into a HAPPY SMILE, THROWS OPEN the CABIN DOOR—

 

**IVAN: — cruel, cruel Fate—!**

 

— and STOPS DEAD:

 

The CABIN is EMPTY!

 

INTERIOR TRACKING SHOT of RUSTIC KUNNING FAMILY CABIN [ _Screenwriter's note: We might want to go with "interior shaky skewing-to-one-side Steadicam shot" instead. Nothing says "serious indie" like shaky, skewing Steadicam_.]— We follow IVAN— and BOHNHAID— as they WALK SOMBERLY THROUGH the ABANDONED KUNNING CABIN. Save for the RUSTIC KITCHEN TABLE, one RUSTIC KITCHEN CHAIR, and IVAN's CHAIR and FALCON's PERCH before the NOW-COLD FIREPLACE, ALICE has taken EVERYTHING!

 

RETURNING to the KITCHEN, IVAN spies SOMETHING on the COUNTER by the SINK: a FOLDED PIECE of PAPER. We and BOHNHAID watch as he UNFOLDS and READS IT. FALCON— perched on LLAMA's BACK— and LLAMA watch from the OPEN BACK DOOR—

 

CLOSEUP: CREAMY-WHITE PAPER. It looks like HIGH-QUALITY BUSINESS STATIONERY. FOLLOWING the NAME at the TOP of the LETTERHEAD— **ALICE E. MASTERSON** — we see TRACES of the word **KUNNING** , neatly BLOTTED OVER with WHITE-OUT—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, READING—] _Dear Evan— **Ivan:** Ivan Junior and I are leavin' you. I have taken a few t'ings from the cabin— will be notifyin' my team o' lawyers in Toronto— found you an' that bird a job wi' Renn Faires International. Hope you are well. See you in court— Alice._ [STUNNED, IVAN leans WEAKLY against the KITCHEN COUNTER—] — Fook.

 

BOHNHAID: [In FLASHBACK, SYMPATHETICALLY—] Oh, dat's tough. Dat's tough, don'cha'know. If dere's anything I can—

 

BOHNHAID STOPS as WE HEAR—

 

A HIGH-PITCHED, IRRITATING WHINING SOUND from OUTSIDE, APPROACHING—

 

IVAN and BOHNHAID go to the CABIN DOOR. THEY— and FALCON and LLAMA— watch as a BLACK-CLAD FIGURE on a BLACK SNOWMOBILE comes WHIZZING UP to the CABIN. And STOPS.

 

BLACK-CLAD FIGURE: [In FLASHBACK, shutting off the SNOWMOBILE and APPROACHING the CABIN—] Mister Ivan Kunning—?

 

A WOMAN's VOICE— of the TYPE that could ETCH GRANITE. Before IVAN can REPLY, the FIGURE REMOVES the HELMET and GOGGLES it WEARS. In UNISON, IVAN, BOHNHAID, FALCON, and LLAMA START in HORROR—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] — **FOOK.**

 

BOHNHAID: [In FLASHBACK] Oh-da-heck—!

 

FALCON: [In FLASHBACK] phuuuh **WHAT—!**

 

LLAMA: [In FLASHBACK] Muh ** _WHONK._**

 

And SO we ESPY the VISAGE belonging to the GRANITE-ETCHING VOICE—

 

An ANCIENT URBAN LEGEND holds that if one is SLAPPED UPON the BACK whilst making a PARTICULARLY SOUR, PETULANT FACE, one's EXPRESSION will be FROZEN FOREVER THUS—

 

BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK, her FACE LENDING TERRIFYING TRUTH to SAID LEGEND—] Mister **I** -van **KUN** -ning—?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, STARING—] That'd be m-me— amm— oh, f-fook—

 

BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK, as she REACHES into a BLACK LEATHER COURIER's POUCH SLUNG OVER her SHOULDER and HANDS IVAN a MANILA ENVELOPE.] You've been _served_.

 

His HANDS SHAKING, IVAN opens the ENVELOPE. At the TOP of the FIRST PAGE of the PAPERS inside, WE— and HE— see the word "DIVORCE"—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, his FACE WORKING, his SHOULDERS SAGGING in DEFEAT—] Oh fook, oh fook, oh fook—

 

BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK, SMUGLY, as she TAKES OUT the KEY to her SNOWMOBILE—] Have a _nice day,_ **Mis** -ter **KUN** -ning.

 

**IVAN: But, even so, occasionally the stony cruelty of Fate cracks and shatters in the face of nothing more— nor less— than a miracle—!**

 

As the BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN saunters INSUFFERABLY back to her SNOWMOBILE, FALCON SUDDENLY SPRINGS into ACTION! His POWERFUL WINGS PROPELLING him into the COLD AIR, he FLIES UP behind the BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN and DEFTLY SNATCHES the SNOWMOBILE KEY in his TALONS!

 

BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK, her BONKERS-SCARY FACE becoming even more TERRIFYING— if such a thing is POSSIBLE— as FALCON FLIES OFF with the KEY—] What the actual _fuck_ —?!?

 

At THIS, LLAMA JOINS the FRAY: HISSING and SPITTING, he CHARGES at the BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN—

 

BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK, BACKING AWAY from LLAMA— and FALLING BACKWARDS over the SEAT of the SNOWMOBILE—] — This is _bullshit_ —!

 

And SO—

 

We— and IVAN and BOHNHAID— watch as CHAOS ERUPTS in the SNOWY EXPANSE of YARD outside the RUSTIC KUNNING FAMILY CABIN, FALCON keeping the SNOWMOBILE KEY just out of REACH, while LLAMA— who has MANAGED to SNATCH AWAY her GOGGLES— HONKS and SPITS at the BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN's HEELS.

 

BOHNHAID: [In FLASHBACK, after HE and IVAN CALMLY SPEND a MOMENT enjoying the SHOW—] You have yourself an alternate means of transp'rtation, Ivan…?

 

MID-SHOT: IVAN. THOUGHT in his EXPRESSION and FREAKY BLUE EYES—

 

**IVAN: My dearest Alice had taken the Jeep— as was her right. But she had not left me— and my friends— trapped, totally bereft—**

 

IVAN NODS. He LEAVES the RUSTIC KUNNING FAMILY CABIN and, with BOHNHAID following— and as CHAOS CONTINUES to RAGE out in the FRONT YARD— walks to the RIGHT, out of FRAME—

 

QUICK FADE and OPEN ON—

 

INTERIOR: MOSTLY FORGOTTEN GARAGE on the KUNNING FAMILY PROPERTY. A LABORED SQUEALING and an INRUSH of DUSTY LIGHT as— from OUTSIDE— IVAN SHOVES the GARAGE DOOR UP. We SEE—

 

IVAN and BOHNHAID, LOOKING in at an ANCIENT, RUSTED-OUT RED F-150: the ORIGINAL KUNNING FAMILY PICKUP!

 

Which— of COURSE— will not START: a BIT LATER, BOHNHAID has DRIVEN his own PICKUP over to the GARAGE. As CHAOS CONTINUES APACE over by the RUSTIC KUNNING FAMILY CABIN, he and IVAN TINKER with the F-150—

 

BOHNHAID: [In FLASHBACK, as he hooks JUMPER CABLES between the TWO PICKUPS—] You got 'ny fresh gas for her…?

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] —Yup.

 

BOHNHAID: [In FLASHBACK, STARTING his TRUCK] Give 'er a couple a' minutes t' take da charge….

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Offer yeh a cup o' coffee, Drew…?

 

BOHNHAID: [In FLASHBACK, as HE and IVAN hike BACK to the RUSTIC KUNNING FAMILY CABIN— and we HEAR the BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN SCREAMING and SWEARING in the BACKGROUND] That'd be right neighborly of ya, Ivan….

 

**IVAN:** [As, in FLASHBACK, he makes a QUICK CUP of COFFEE for HIMSELF and BOHNAID: One or two LOGS from the NEAT STACK OUTSIDE the DOOR. A CHIPPED PORCELAIN COFFEE POT. WATER from SNOW. A COUPLE of FORGOTTEN PACKETS of NESCAFE INSTANT. One— and only one— MUG for BOHNHAID. And FALCON's POPCORN BOWL for IVAN HIMSELF.] **Mine was a newfound strength. And purpose. I found myself— perhaps for the first time— at _peace_.**

 

As IVAN and BOHNHAID companionably FINISH their COFFEE, we HEAR a POUNDING at the BACK DOOR. The DOOR SWINGS OPEN. The BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN— now looking like SOMETHING that COULD SCARE the PLATING OFF a BATTLESHIP— STANDS RIGHT OUTSIDE, WIELDING a CELL PHONE—!

 

BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN: [In FLASHBACK— _FURIOUSLY_ — to IVAN—] This is _bullshit_ —! You and your fucking animal menagerie bird zoo! I'm calling the cops! Do you hear me, you idiot moron psycho? I'm calling the COPS—!!!

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK] Amm. Right— [He sets FALCON's BOWL on the COUNTER by the SINK. He GOES to the DOOR, PLUCKS the PHONE from the YOUNG WOMAN's HAND, and FLINGS it INTO THE SKY— where FALCON CATCHES it GRACEFULLY in MID-AIR and SOARS OFF with IT over the SURROUNDING WOODS.] Why don't yeh kindly fook off, yeh fookin' Gorgon…?

 

SCREAMING like a STEAM-POWERED BANSHEE in SENSURROUND [ _Screenwriter's note: Look it up. Back in the day, Sensurround was some SCARY SHIT_.], the BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN turns and RUNS OFF— after FALCON— into the WOODS.

 

**IVAN:** [In VOICEOVER, as IVAN in FLASHBACK CALMLY watches the BLACK-CLAD YOUNG WOMAN vanish— HOWLING and SWEARING, and with LLAMA still SPITTING and NIPPING at her HEELS— into the TREES] **—Truly at fookin' peace.**

 

[FADE]

 

**EPILOGUE:**

 

OPEN ON—

 

EXTERIOR SHOT: The SET-A-SPELL, the RHANDOME TRUCK STOP and BAIT SHOP. At one of the SELF-SERVICE PUMPS, we SEE— SITTING EMPTY— the RUSTED-OUT KUNNING FAMILY F-150.

 

CUT TO: INTERIOR of the RHANDOME TRUCK STOP. In the QUICK-MART AREA, we see IVAN, WANDERING the AISLES—

 

**IVAN: My purpose? As clear as day, as pure as light—**

 

IVAN takes out his WALLET and LOOKS INSIDE. We can GUESS from his EXPRESSION what he DOES— or DOESN'T— SEE—

 

**IVAN: My means…? Sadly limited.**

 

IVAN puts his WALLET back in his POCKET and GLANCES ABOUT. With a DETERMINED— yet FURTIVE— look on his FACE, he EASES CLOSER to one of the GROCERY SHELVES—

 

As IVAN begins to SHOPLIFT— CANS of SPAM and HORMEL CHILI shoved into his POCKETS— a BAG of DORITOS tucked— GINGERLY, with a GUILTY CRUNCHING— under his PARKA— we PULL BACK WIDE ENOUGH to SEE, through the FRONT WINDOW of the TRUCK STOP—

 

FALCON and LLAMA, across the STREET, looking at the CLOSED DOOR of the RHANDOME FEED STORE. On the DOOR is a SIGN that MAY— or MAY NOT— say "BACK IN FIVE MINUTES." As IVAN, FROWNING, THINKS— _What do llamas like to eat—?_ — and STUFFS a BOX of RAISIN BRAN in after the DORITOS— FALCON and LLAMA SNEAK OFF BEHIND the FEED STORE—

 

GUILTILY, NERVOUSLY, IVAN APPROACHES the CHECK-OUT COUNTER, behind which STANDS— as she's STOOD pretty much for the LAST FORTY YEARS, give or take— GRAY-HAIRED, TOUGH-AS-NAILS ANNIE BARTLE—

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, trying to sound CASUAL as he reaches— AWKWARDLY— for his WALLET] 'lo, Annie. That'll be pump six, please. Amm.

 

ACROSS the STREET— DIMLY— we HEAR a CRASH. Or CRASHES. A SOUND like a WOODEN DOOR SPLINTERING. MUFFLED WHUMPHINGS like BINS of FEED TOPPLING and SPILLING. And a HANDFUL of PANICKED SQUEAKS—

 

ANNIE: [In FLASHBACK] That'll be forty-three-oh-six. [CALMLY, as IVAN—SHAKING— passes her a HANDFUL of RUMPLED BILLS] You want a bag for that stuff, Ivan…?

 

IVAN FREEZES. Then, as ANNIE finishes SORTING OUT his CHANGE, he PLACES the CONTENTS of his PARKA on the COUNTER. The SPAM and the CHILI. The RAISIN BRAN. The BAG of DORITOS.

 

ANNIE: [In FLASHBACK, EYEING the BAG of DORITOS as she HANDS IVAN HIS CHANGE] I'll getcha another bag o' Doritos. This one's all crunched up.

 

In GUILT— and REVERENT DISBELIEF— IVAN watches as ANNIE waddles off to get an UNCRUSHED BAG of DORITOS—

 

ANNIE: [In FLASHBACK, RETURNING to the CHECK-OUT COUNTER and BAGGING the FRESH DORITOS with the rest of IVAN's GROCERIES—] There ya go.

 

IVAN: [In FLASHBACK, his voice HUSHED—] T'anks, Annie.

 

ANNIE: [In FLASHBACK] No problem. Pay me when ya can. [She WINKS at IVAN and NODS toward the DOOR.] Go get 'er, kid.

 

IVAN— finally SMILING— gratefully takes the BAG of GROCERIES and heads for the DOOR—

 

**IVAN: My means limited, but my heart full of hope—**

 

OUTSIDE, IVAN looks ABOUT as he WALKS to the F-150. FALCON and LLAMA are NOWHERE to BE SEEN. IVAN opens the DRIVER'S-SIDE DOOR and SETS the BAG in the TRUNCATED BACK SEAT of the TRUCK's EXTENDED CAB. He STEPS back from the PICKUP, again LOOKS ABOUT, and WHISTLES— SHARPLY, CONFIDENTLY—

 

From the FEED STORE— only pausing to CHECK for TRAFFIC— FALCON and LLAMA come FLYING— and RUNNING— RESPECTIVELY. LLAMA's SNOUT is DUSTY with BITS of GRAIN. The TIP of a MOUSE TAIL HANGS from FALCON's MIGHTY BEAK. IVAN opens the TAILGATE for LLAMA— who HOPS UP into the TRUCK BED— and the PASSENGER DOOR— and the SLIDING BACK WINDOW of the TRUCK CAB— for FALCON.

 

**IVAN: — and with my friends at my side—**

 

IVAN climbs into the DRIVER's SIDE of the TRUCK and STARTS the ENGINE. We PAN UP WIDE and AWAY as the KUNNING FAMILY PICKUP pulls out of the RHANDOME TRUCK STOP and DRIVES OFF down the HIGHWAY heading EAST out of TOWN— with LLAMA SETTLED like a PLUSH BLACK SOFA against the BACK of the CAB— and into the DISTANCE.

 

**IVAN: — I would win her back…!**

 

*****  
*****

 

**THE END**

 

*****  
*****  
*****  
  
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
